


Half Light

by hartstrings



Series: Goodbye to Sleep [2]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anarch Movement (Vampire: The Masquerade), F/M, LaCroix making slightly better decisions, Nosferatu as their own warning, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Tzimisce as their own warning, also guest starring the entire nosferatu clan, but not much better, some stuff yoinked from tabletop, somewhat canon divergent take on the main story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 159,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartstrings/pseuds/hartstrings
Summary: In this town where I was bornI now see through a dead man's eyesThe Final Nights draw near, and in Los Angeles forces battle to hasten or slow them. A powerless life has turned to a cursed unlife - but Mary was cursed with a purpose. Assigned a role in a play she doesn't understand, all of Los Angeles grows to hold its breath and wait for the third act. Nines Rodriguez knew her when she still lived - and wonders if his movement will echo her ruin, or her rise.Part of a series, can be read standalone.
Relationships: Nines Rodriguez/Original Character(s), Nines Rodriguez/Original Female Character
Series: Goodbye to Sleep [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929829
Comments: 53
Kudos: 67





	1. Embrace

Death was unlike anything Mary expected.

She’d imagined a light, or something akin to falling asleep. Some great feeling that would impress the gravity of the situation upon her.

Yet all she could feel was her blood spilling hot from her throat, coating her body and mattress, contrasted against the cold sharp sensation of _teeth_ digging into her flesh. Sensation was dulled and heightened all at once, her brain using its last reserves of oxygenated blood to fire frantically and uselessly.

Then, like a flipped switch, the world went out.

A dream of kissing stone, and she grew aware of her body once more.

It was odd, how she was conscious of her lack of heartbeat. There was a heaviness in her limbs, a strange pressure in her chest. It felt as if she was holding her breath, but she never felt the need to exhale.

Her surroundings smelled of rot and water, damp concrete and rust. She was on her back, some hard surface beneath her - she could feel bruises blooming where her spine pressed against it. Spreading out her fingers, she felt the ridges of poured cement under her hands.

“Childe.” A voice rumbled like thunder in the distance, and the sound of footsteps approached. A cup was held to her lips. “Drink.”

The liquid was thick, tasting of copper. At first taste she was tempted to gag, but cold fingers pressed to her throat, massaging it - guiding the liquid down. With it came a sudden surge of warmth - she hadn’t realized she was freezing, but now her extremities felt as if they were ice. Whatever was trickling down her throat wasn’t enough, the warmth it provided lingering only in her chest. Mary began to shiver violently - her skin was bare, she now knew, she was naked, exposed to the elements, at the mercy of whatever hands were so tenderly offering her the liquid.

It was imperative she gulp it down and draw the warmth into herself. Desperately she drank, each swallow of the concoction spreading heat further through her body and restoring some amount of control to her. Soon she had the strength - and the will - to open her eyes.

She wished she hadn’t.

Home felt a lifetime away. Dim candlelight lit her foreign surroundings - some sort of tunnel, with a vaulted ceiling. Her cup was full of blood - dark and viscous, unlike anything she’d seen - and holding it was the same creature who’d broken into the sanctity of her home and spoke mysteries to her in the dark.

The creature that had ripped into her throat.

 _Casimir_. A name that bloomed when she looked upon him - had he told her it, or was it simply a natural law, a knowledge that was written on her bones?

He looked no less horrific lit by candlelight, each flicker bringing out new and horrifying shadows on his form. His skin was like cracked stone, oozing out liquid like the blood in her cup. Mottled and twisted flesh wound around a twisted skeleton. Too many teeth, ripping through the meat of his cheeks, stealing any expression he may offer. Black eyes, save for white irises that glowed dimly in the gloom. They looked upon her with pity. Mary wanted to scream, but hadn’t the voice for it.

Soon she had enough strength to hold the cup, her own small, delicate hands folding on top of Casimir’s clawed digits to tip the vessel further back. It was horrible, disgusting - but she could not stop.

“Good.” Casimir spoke, when she’d drained the last dregs. His voice resonated, connecting to something between her ribs that hummed. He took the cup from her and walked into the deeper darkness, beyond where she could see. 

The cold had left her, only an odd sort of buzzing remaining. Mary tilted her head to investigate her surroundings - somehow the concept of sitting up or standing was foreign to her mind. Laying down felt like a compulsion.

On her left a long chest freezer was pushed up against a concrete wall, stained and far from the white color it once was. A stream of black water ran through a channel in the floor, through a grate and into the beyond. Little shapes shifted in it, grabbing detritus carried by the current. Rats.

To her right was a mirror, candles surrounding it. It was large - as long as she was tall, reflecting her naked form back at her. The frame was gilded but tarnished, the silver backing of the mirror damaged at the corners.

Fear laced through her. The sight the mirror granted her was one of her living nightmares - her own corpse. Her skin was paler than it’d ever been in life, her lips blue - and at her throat the jagged wound, as if an animal had torn it out. It did not bleed. Mary was struck at how her exposed muscle looked like meat - as if it could belong in a butcher’s display if only it was wrapped in cellophane. It was nothing anyone could suffer and survive. She was dead, well and truly - and frighteningly aware.

Mary tried to speak, but only managed a whimper. Footsteps sounded again, and Casimir returned to her field of view.

“Hush.” He spoke with tenderness she could not comprehend and knelt beside her. “Save your strength. You’ve found the mirror. Good.”

“Why?” she gasped.

“It is what you agreed to.” Casimir answered. “To shed the mortal shell, to bear the mantle of truth. You will witness your transformation, as I did mine. You will thank me for it in time - not all of our kind are granted understanding of our forms, the metamorphosis between mortal and everlasting.”

Transformation. Mary looked at his reflection in the mirror - she looked so small, with him crouched next to her. Was she to transform into something like him? Stonelike flesh, cracked and gnarled, cheeks torn to shreds? Mary lifted her hand to touch her face. She was never beautiful - a _six out of ten_ , she recalled jeers from high school - and yet she found she’d miss her face. The overwhelming urge to cry washed over her, but she found her eyes dry.

“There will be pain.” A clawed hand laid on her stomach, thumb stroking with intent to soothe, as if she was a colicky baby. “I am sorry. The only comfort I can offer is that it will be lighter than most. Some of our kind prefer their childer to suffer.” His other hand placed over her forehead, the scent of rotting leaves following it. Where once she’d find it nearly overwhelming, now it had a strange comfort. Casimir brushed her hair from her forehead, tucked it behind her ears. In those dark eyes she saw a shade of regret. “You will be my last.”

“Thank you.” Mary managed to croak out - her voice was ragged, as if she’d caught a bad case of strep throat. 

Casimir chuckled like crunching gravel, lifting his hands from her. She felt their absence. “Within the hour you will curse me.” He stood and walked back into the darkness. “Were matters not so dire, I’d tell you of myself and our world. Perhaps it’d distract from the pain. But your purpose is not to know. Not in full.”

Dread surged through her - what pain awaited her? What could fill even a creature like Casimir with pity? “What… is my purpose?” 

“I told you to save your strength.” he scolded from the dark. “You are to be a child of the Final Nights. Born within them, Embraced within them. You will know what the others will not, see how the others could never see.” Seeing her about to speak once more, he cut across any further attempts at speech. “Yes, you have brethren - you are not my first. Only the last. You are unlikely to meet them. Perhaps some of them are already gone. Now hush, childe. Enjoy this interlude, for it is short. I find myself revisiting it often, now that the end is so near.”

Mary still had questions, but a sudden _crack_ broke off all chance of thought. It came from her hands - she looked down at them to hear more cracking, witnessing her knuckles break and digits elongate. The pain hit as soon as she processed what was happening, and moisture flooded down her cheeks. 

In the mirror her tears were black streaks, thick as tar, but they were far from the most terrifying sight that awaited her. Her insides felt as if they were shredding apart, her stomach flattening and curving inward with withered organs and melting fat. Her skin itched, then burned - cracking, blistering, scabbing over - turning to leather before her eyes, mottled and discolored like a drowned corpse. 

From the nothingness Casimir came, holding the cup to her trembling lips once more. Mary gulped down the liquid within hungrily - it was delicious now, blissful euphoria cutting through the pain for a few brief moments.

Her throat was hoarse - she realized it was because she had been screaming, an endless unbroken wail of agony that had become so constant it was just another law of reality. Each gulp soothed the pain - she felt her throat tingle, healing. When the cup was drained and Casimir began to pull away she tried to reach for him, to claw him back as if he could save her from the inevitable wave crashing over her again.

Casimir said something, but she was incapable of understanding. The pain was blinding, white-hot, so intense she couldn’t focus on much else - and yet her eyes were frozen staring into the mirror as her body crumpled in on itself like a crushed soda can, turning to something unrecognizable.

It was her face that dealt a blow beyond pain. Blood-stained cheeks sunk in. Her teeth grew long, sharp and bent like those of a creature out of the deepest oceans. The cartilage of her nose wasted away, leaving it snout like with slit nostrils. Last and worst of all were her eyes - the only feature she’d ever liked - their hazel turning milky white, sockets caving in and throwing her eyes into shadow.

Mary looked as dead as she was, staring at a corpse in the mirror. Everything about her was shriveled and sunken - if she had the presence of mind she could count every rib. Once dark hair had gone stark white, and when she reached up to touch it with shaking hands ( _clawed_ hands, veiny and thin as a grandmother’s) it fell off in clumps. Her screams gave way to body wracking sobs, arms falling shaking to her sides - longer and thinner than they ever were in life.

Whatever curse had made Casimir look like stone turned to monstrous flesh had not touched her. Instead she was death, an undeniable carcass. Misbegotten, malformed. Would he be ashamed of her?

Something tore through her left shoulder and screams were wrenched from her anew. A spur of bone broke through her flesh, a spike only a few inches long - then another, and another, erupting at odd angles close to each other. The pain was so terrible she sought anything to distract from it - she clawed at the ground, then her body - slashing at her leather skin. Finally, desperately, she clawed at her face in search of a sensation intense enough to dull the screaming pain of her shoulder.

As suddenly as it began, it was over. Like twisting a faucet, the sea of blinding pain ended, leaving only a terrible throbbing ache in its wake. Her self inflicted wounds closed, those on her body leaving seamless skin once healed but those at her eyes scarring and darkening. It was the only part of her new body she’d had control over.

The sobs returned as she saw clearly enough to look in the mirror. Any trace of the woman she was had been erased - she was no one, any who remembered her would never see who she was again. Dead to the world, dead to history. Mary’s ruined cheek pressed against the cold concrete beneath her, stained in blood - she drew herself into the fetal position, as if it could numb the radiating ache. She had wanted to disappear, she had wanted to start again - she had agreed to this, but the cost was too terrible to bear.

“Come.” Casimir was near again - the sound of his voice was something she clung to, a guiding beacon. He rolled her over and pressed the cup to her lips once more. Mary leaned up to drink greedily from it, and he placed his free hand on the back of her neck to support her as if she was a newborn babe. She supposed she was, in a way. “It was fast. You are fortunate.”

Mary whimpered, the noise muffled against the cup. When she’d drained it for the third time, she felt like she had a foot in the real world again. Without the pain, she felt a strange flutter of relief that at least the misery of her previous life was extinguished. Then shame and disgust at her own appearance flooded her - when Casimir withdrew she put her hands over her face.

He laughed that same gravelly laugh he had earlier - how much earlier, she had no idea. He had said her transformation was quick, but it felt as if it’d been hours. “Do you wish to hide, childe?”

“Yes.” she murmured, voice muffled behind her palms. 

“Feel for the darkness around you.”

Mary reluctantly tore her hands away from her face and instead let her spidery fingers grasp at the air around her. The shadows cast by candlelight felt somehow tangible, like floating pools of water.

“Pull it over yourself, clothe your body.”

Her nails hooked into the darkness as if it was a sheet. She tugged the shadow toward herself, gathering it into her arms like a blanket, draped it over her naked and withered body.

“Feel the humming in your blood. Sink into the world unseen.”

It was like her body was a harp, and she found a vibrating string. Plucking it, she felt her stomach drop - and then she was safe. Hidden. Mary closed her eyes instinctually, letting the strange void she’d pulled around herself comfort her.

“Good.” Casimir’s tone rang with approval, and Mary wanted nothing more than to earn it again and again. “Our bloodline knows how to obfuscate ourselves better than most.”

Somehow he knew where she was - she felt him settle his hand on her shoulder, his fingers lacing through the bony spikes protruding from it. A noise of contentment escaped her throat, and she returned to the visible world once again.

“This is all of the Art I can teach you. I must leave you soon.”

“No.” she murmured weakly, the very idea antithesis to her being. Mary did not know _why_ she felt so attached to the very creature that had cursed her, but the connection was undeniable.

“I wish things were different. I beg you forgive me when our final judgement is upon us. I hope you will see it as I will.” Casimir’s hand moved to her forehead again. “Find our people. Find the Nosferatu of this city. Don’t let the Ancients rob us of our due. Now rest. Your time is approaching.”

Mary’s eyes closed. 

When she reopened them, she was lying on a stained mattress in the blood drenched clothes she’d worn the last time she was alive. The hotel room she lay in was dingy and reeked of cigarettes. A handsome man with long dark hair sat in a nearby armchair - he felt familiar, and when he spoke she realized it was her maker.

“It is easy to wear a mask. Wear them little. Know what you are - it will make you stronger than the rest.” Casimir spoke, his voice now velvet smooth. He wore a simple black robe that looked older than she was. “But do not forget where you came from. It may save your soul, what little remains. This is my last lesson to you, Mary.”

Strength had returned to her - she found speech possible again. “How… how can I remember what I used to be, like this?” 

Somewhere below, she heard a door open.

“It is painful.” Casimir conceded. “But it is a cleansing fire. Know what you are, childe. My gift to you is the freedom to discover it.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall. Casimir’s false appearance blew away like smoke, leaving only the grim monstrosity in its wake. It would have been comical, seeing a being like him in a beaten faux-leather armchair - but the way his claws pierced the fabric added an element of horror.

“I don’t understand.” Mary murmured. 

The door was kicked open, turned to splinters. Figures moved behind it, but she had not the eyes for them. Casimir cast a mournful gaze her way before a strange woman threw a wooden stake into his heart. 

Instinctively, Mary moved to try and save Casimir - she felt the edges of her vision turn red, strength pour through her veins - but she was slammed up against the headboard by a man with a snake’s eyes. Wood drove into her heart, and the world went dark once more.

\--

Sebastian LaCroix expected many things from his assignment in Los Angeles; dragging Anarchs to heel, the Sabbat causing as many Masquerade breaches as their numbers could afford, the strange beings from the East doing all they could to undermine his work.

What he did not expect, however, was a Nosferatu elder thought dead for over a century leaving a polite letter on his doorstep admitting to violating the Tradition of Progeny. A mistake most often committed by the lower rabble, Kindred of weak blood and childish Anarchs. Those of greater age at least had the decency to cover their tracks.

Yet he had received a letter with detailed instructions on where precisely to find said elder, and when LaCroix had sent out a few neonates eager to prove themselves to spring what he had assumed was an obvious trap they had staked and retrieved Sire and Childe. Strauss was gracious enough to offer up one of his warded cells for their imprisonment, and so LaCroix found himself walking down a spiralling metal staircase, the strange thrum of thaumaturgical energy rippling through the air.

It was curious. Unsettling. He had immediately sent for verification of the Nosferatu’s identity - it took a month to receive an answer, but when it came it verified all that was given in the letter was true. Casimir, a former Camarilla spy, exposed while undercover within the Sabbat two centuries prior and disappeared from all knowledge since. The Nosferatu was older than LaCroix, but the powers in Europe stressed the importance of obtaining whatever answers he could before ensuring Casimir’s final death. They had little care for the Childe, leaving the matter to LaCroix’s own discretion.

So easily, an unlife spanning centuries became an asset expended. They could not trust that the Sabbat had not given Casimir the _vaulderie_ , that he was not acting as their agent bonded in blood to their own. Surviving for so long with nary a report had placed him on the side of the enemy, and it fell to LaCroix to enact the sentence.

He seethed, stepping down onto flat black stone and continuing down a thin hallway, lit by a source he could not ascertain. The affair was interfering with his own time sensitive plans - plans that would put him far above reigning over some American backwater infested with rabble rousers and thin bloods. Still, he held his composure - whatever Casimir’s plan was, LaCroix intended on discovering it - and for that, he needed the utmost clarity of mind.

A Tremere woman with long dark hair and round spectacles waited for him as he rounded a corner, standing by what appeared to be a blank wall. Strauss’ interrogator, one of the people of his Chantry - _Viola_ , if he recalled correctly. The stink of magic was thick about her, and Lacroix intended to do as little business with her as possible.

“Sir.” Viola dipped her head as he approached, and he flashed her a polite smile in return. “Maximillian told me of your visit. I regret to inform you the Nosferatu is inflexible. He refuses to speak.”

“I’m not surprised.” LaCroix sniffed. “I suspect there are very few older than him in this part of the country. He has time on his side. I’d like to speak with him nevertheless.”

It wasn’t a request, but phrasing was ever so important in maintaining loyalties. 

Viola nodded, and pressed her left hand against the wall. At once the bricks shifted, turning and moving to create an opening to the cell beyond. Immediately the subject of his interest was brought into view, standing still in the center of the cell, encircled by mysterious runes written on the floor in blood.

LaCroix stepped into the cell, and the wall closed behind him.

Casimir was a creature to behold, six and a half feet tall and hideous as any of his ilk. The Tremere’s witchcraft could not withhold the stench emanating from him, rot and filth - it brought LaCroix back to the trenches of centuries past, men and mud, blood and decay. 

His disgust must have shown on his face, for a rumbling chuckle sounded from Casimir. The Nosferatu tilted his head, looking down curiously at LaCroix with his darkened eyes.

“You are French, are you not?” LaCroix began, informing his prisoner that any secrets of his origin were now laid bare. Everything the Camarilla knew, LaCroix did - but, he supposed, Casimir must have assumed as much.

“ _Oui._ ” Casimir replied. “But you did not come here to ask about home.”

How he managed the words with ruined lips and three dozen teeth, LaCroix could not imagine. He kept his composure, trying not to let his disgust from the sheer display of Casimir’s speech show. “No. I did not.”

Casimir’s neck cracked as he tilted his head to and fro - parts of his skin broke open, and it took considerable willpower for LaCroix to keep from recoiling. The Nosferatu said nothing, settling on studying him.

It was an attempt to make him uneasy, and he refused to allow it to work. “As you can guess, my questions are ones that have already been asked of you. Why? If you had sought permission, I would have gladly granted it. If you mistrust us, you’re Nosferatu - at your age staying hidden is a trifling thing. Yet you confessed.”

“The penalty is death. You are wasting time, Prince.”

LaCroix raised a sculpted brow. “There are easier ways to meet your final death. If it is suicide you wish, why bring a childe into the world? Do you wish accompaniment to the abyss?”

Casimir chuckled, the sound like an opening sarcophagus. “You won’t kill her.”

“Don’t presume to tell me how I should act in _my_ city.”

The chuckle turned into a full laugh, though there was a wheezing quality to it - the Tremere had done some damage. “Princeling, if you kill her you don’t deserve the title. A Nosferatu of potent blood without Sire, without the web of her clan cocooning her? A powerful tool.”

It was an obvious play - and that frightened LaCroix. “You’re intent on convincing me. I’m even more inclined to kill her.”

“I cannot stop you. You are welcome to.” Casimir raised his clawed hands in mock surrender. “You know what you’ll throw away.”

“You had one hundred and twenty-two years to announce yourself to the Camarilla. If you wanted a childe within it, why not-”

“It was not yet time.” Casimir clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight with his head held high. He looked down upon LaCroix, and he resented how small he was made to feel.

Time to try a different tactic. “You were a friend to the Camarilla, once. Whatever you have planned, tell me - I have resources, I can aid you.”

“Do not flatter me, boy.”

It was a battle to keep his voice even. “Tell me, and I won’t bring your childe’s ashes to you.”

The two men stared at each other - LaCroix tried sending out a wave of his own will - it crashed against Casimir like a stormy sea on the shore, but he did not budge. The Nosferatu was nearer to Caine in blood than he - any attempts at forcing his way into his mind were fruitless.

“We both know you don’t dare.”

LaCroix’s composure snapped. He spoke quickly, lowly - words bit out from between his teeth. “I have a habit of subverting expectations, sewer rat. Let it be on your head.” 

Casimir merely looked down upon him - LaCroix could swear his eyes held amusement within them.

“ _Viola!”_ LaCroix shouted, and the brick wall behind him slid apart once more. He stepped back through it, levelling a sharp look at the Tremere. “See what you can get from him. Whatever it takes.”

Viola nodded, but LaCroix knew she’d retrieve little. The pain she’d inflict in the process, however, soothed his ego. 

If nothing else, Casimir would suffer for his insolence before getting the death he sought. In the meantime, LaCroix had an execution to arrange - and contingencies to plan for.

\--

Unconsciousness was ripped from her alongside the wooden stake. The world came into being, but it was blurry - spotlights shone down on her. A stage?

An unfamiliar voice was speaking - it _simpered_ , filled her with reflexive rage. Her throat was dry - she felt parched and on edge, a hollowness in her body. She wished for the cup again, for the sweet ichor it contained.

A man in a suit was the one who spoke. His skin was alabaster, hair elegantly slicked back. The only sound apart from his voice was the clicking of his polished shoes against the wooden floor - he was pacing back and forth as he spoke, granting her glimpses of his face. He was handsome - and bored.

There was a large shadow to her right - Mary turned her head to try and make it out. She caught sight of Casimir first - on his knees, arms shackled behind him, staring straight ahead. Under the spotlights he was like a grotesque sculpture on display, bearing an eldritch allure. Next to him was the cause of the shadow. A man, but not truly - his eyes were pure red and he was larger than any man she’d ever seen - than any human could be. Whatever he was, he radiated power and held a sword nearly as long as he was tall. Seven feet, at _least._

Mary blinked the blur from her eyes and squinted into the darkness beyond the lights. She _was_ on a stage - in the crowd beyond were strange people with pale skin that reflected the light of the stage, most beautiful beyond anything she’d seen. Some looked at her, others at the man who was speaking. Mary wanted nothing more but to hide - she tried to reach out to the shadows again, but found her own arms bound behind her. She and Casimir were prisoners, but why?

She felt like a child in a Christmas play. She was given a role she did not understand, but she was playing it nevertheless.

“The penalty for this transgression is death.” The suited man announced, sparking some sort of primal fear within her. He walked up to Casimir, leaned forward in an apparent show of sentimentality, and spoke loudly enough for all to hear. “Forgive me.”

He smiled as he said it, hidden from the audience beyond. Hate broiled in her gut, but it was fast replaced by wrenching horror. The man in the suit stepped back, and the large man took his blade in hand. Foreign hands shoved Casimir forward, exposing the back of his thick and corded neck.

“Let the penalty commence.”

In one swift motion the blade swung up and down. Casimir’s head rolled down and off the stage, causing a woman in the front row to recoil. Mary stared as his body turned to ash, a thread within her severed with his life. What remained of the only being she had in this new world blew across the stage, ashes bunching around her legs. Her eyes darted to the executioner’s blade, wondering if it was her turn next - if all of the suffering she had endured would be for nothing, merely one last painful episode to end her miserable life. Strangely, she felt no pity for Casimir - as his head was severed from his body, so too was whatever connected her to him. It did not soothe her - she felt more isolated than ever, now, knowing her attachment was false. Mary tried to speak - to plead her innocence, to cry that she didn’t know- but her throat was too dry. Her eyes weren’t - she felt tears track their way down her face, knowledge settling over her. They looked down upon her, the faces of the crowd looking at the corpse of Casimir with disgusted fascination. Even if she lived, would it be a life worth living?

“Now for the fate of the ill-begotten progeny.” The suited man looked over his shoulder at her, offering nothing but indifference. “Without a Sire, most Childer are left ignorant of the world, our Traditions, and the laws they must obey. To condemn her to life as a Caitiff would be cruel. Therefore, I have decided-”

He was echoing her fears, reading out the preamble to her death sentence. She began to struggle. Maybe she’d get a miracle - if there was still a god out there after the horrors she’d witnessed perhaps he’d take pity on her. One of the grim figures behind her reached out to try and pull her back by her bloody shirt collar, but she twisted away from them and fell forward for her trouble. Mary’s cheek ground against the floor without her hands to catch her fall, and at last she cried out. She gnashed her teeth and still tried to struggle to her feet, even as someone behind her laughed. It was echoed by a few in the crowd. Mary was going to die, and they were mocking her.

A voice shouted over the crowd, a cutting command in stark contrast to the simpering of the man in the suit. The laughter died.

“This is _bullshit_.”

It was familiar - a note she couldn’t quite recognize, a song she’d heard once long ago. Mary grappled with her memories, but found the details of anything before Casimir’s teeth at her neck were blurry at best and nonexistent at worst.

The man in the suit froze. Whispering broke out in the crowd. He cast a glance back at Mary’s pitiful display. “Pick her up.” he hissed.

Mary was pulled up off of the floor, bringing the audience back into her field of vision. A man in blue stood, dressed like he could have been at the mechanic’s rather than an execution. Fury was etched on every inch of his features - his cheekbones were sharp as his teeth, eyes pale blue and icy as their color. His posture spoke to only the barest modicum of restraint. A red haired woman was standing to his right, pressing her hands against his shoulders in an attempt to get him to sit down. A dark skinned man at his left was doing the same, mouth moving with words Mary couldn’t make out.

The man in the suit narrowed his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. Considering his options, Mary realized. “If Mr. Rodriguez would let me finish.” he replied with faux-politeness, sounding as if he was tempted to accept the challenge.

Rodriguez looked past the man, his gaze settling on her. Mary stared back at her would-be savior, and saw a brief flicker of sympathy in his gaze - a glimmer of warmth amidst ice. His attention shifted back to his opponent. “You’re taking your sweet fucking time, LaCroix.”

The man at Rodriguez’ side was making a concerted effort to push him back now.

LaCroix raised his hand. “I have decided to let this Kindred live.”

Mary slumped forward, relief rushing through her like the tide, roaring in her ears. She only heard snatches of LaCroix’s next words - _“... she will be taught…”_ \- for she was filled with a maelstrom of emotions. She would live. Casimir was dead. She was alone. She was a freakshow, laughed at in the strange new world unfolding before her.

Desperation had her seeking out Rodriguez in the crowd again - as if she could get him to help her through her eyes alone. He was glaring daggers at LaCroix as he spoke, even as he gave into the insistence of his friend and stepped back. Mary caught the end of LaCroix’s sentence - _“... good evening.”_ \- and the audience started filing out. Rodriguez caught her staring as she was hauled to her feet, and returned her desperate stare with a grim nod and a mouthed _stay alive_.

Somehow, she felt like she was going to be okay.

LaCroix turned to look at her properly at last, his expression schooled into gentle melancholy. “I am terribly sorry about your Sire. There are Traditions we must adhere to if we’re to survive - we don’t wish to bring a second Inquisition down on our heads. Tragic, but necessary.”

All she could manage was a flat stare, confused by what he was saying. Whatever rage she’d felt towards the man had died with Casimir. LaCroix seemed to note this, for he nodded at a woman behind her. She placed a claw at the rope binding Mary’s hands and severed it. When Mary only stood still, the woman bowed before LaCroix and departed the stage.

“Under ordinary circumstances, you would meet the same fate as your Sire. However, your fate has been left to my discretion. Walk with me.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and began to walk backstage. Mary limped after him, finding that movement was difficult - her limbs felt leaden and slow.

“I have taken a risk in letting you live - according to our Traditions, I have made myself responsible for your actions and well-being. Do not mistake this for empty generosity - I have given you a chance to transcend beyond whatever purpose your Sire intended for you, and the fate he had written.”

LaCroix paused only for effect, not bothering to glance her way. He seemed intent on staying at least five feet ahead of her, and so she was made familiar with his back. They walked down a hallway, following EXIT signs that glowed dull red.

“You will find your way to Santa Monica. Here is the address of the Haven I am providing you.” He took a slip of paper from his chest pocket and held it behind him between two fingers. Mary grabbed it and stared down at it - the address wasn’t one she recognized. “Assuming you make it there before sunrise, you are to meet an agent named Mercurio. He will provide the details of your labor and answer any questions you may have.”

They came to a fire door. The fake plant beside it was coated in dust.

“Do you understand?”

Mary nodded quickly, getting the idea that a negative answer would have her meet the same fate as her creator - her _sire_. 

“I’ve shown you great clemency, fledgling.” he continued, nose wrinkling with her now standing so close to him. “Prove it was more than a wasted gesture. Don’t return until you do.”

With that, he pushed the door open like a footman and gestured at it with his other hand.

Mary walked out into the night, and it shut behind her.

Casimir’s ashes still clung to her clothes.


	2. Downtown I

The night air was sharp, crisp, lacking the balmy heat of summer. It was September the last time Mary had any awareness of her place in time - as she walked down the concrete steps of the theatre’s back entrance she wondered how much time had passed since her death. Was it winter, or early spring? Was there a police investigation into her disappearance? Had she made the news? Or was her death tossed into a filing cabinet among so many others, left in wait for leads that would never come?

Mary stumbled on the last step. She felt groggy, like she’d just woken up after the worst dentist’s visit in the world. Raising her hands, she touched the tips of her now-elongated teeth, peeking out from her mouth even when it was closed. They’d make for one hell of a dentist appointment now.

Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. In the alley of a community theatre she stood, a Halloween costume in a murder victim’s clothes, swaying like a drunk as her now thin legs struggled to keep her upright. She was supposed to find Santa Monica, but she had no idea where she was - let alone how to get somewhere she’d never been. It wasn’t as if she could hail a cab. Looking the way she did, she wouldn’t blame the driver for trying to run her over.

A _second inquisition_ , LaCroix had spoken of. Had her kind been hunted before? It made sense, she mused, looking down at her hands. With claws like hers, it’d be simple to do terrible damage if she wanted to. Trembling, she took a few steps down the alleyway, her feet crunching against the gravel. However she travelled, she had to stay hidden - that much she knew. In her dimly lit surroundings the shadows lay sharp, and she reached out to try and pull them around her once more. This time, however, her fingers found no purchase.

Gravel crunched from behind. Mary turned, slower than she’d have liked - but it seemed like the new arrival had no intent of sneaking up on her.

It was a man, and he was chuckling - a warmer sound than that of the theatre audience. As he passed into the light, he looked like a cartoonist’s sketch of a biker - a torn dark denim vest over a bare and hairy chest, leather pants and combat boots, a tangled and greying beard matching his long hair. His eyes twinkled with amusement, and in his smile she could make out fangs.

“What a scene, man.” The stranger cackled, sauntering up to her with all the confidence in the world. Unlike LaCroix, he had no issue approaching her. It put her at ease. “Then they just plop you out here like a baby in the woods. An ugly baby - they really have it out for you, huh? Did he tell you that if anyone sees you the magilla gorilla back there will dice you up, or was he hoping the first person who ran screaming would make you get the picture?”

“He told me to go to Santa Monica and meet someone there, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t really understand.” Mary replied, eyeing the man with some suspicion. His tone was playful, but there was an edge to his words that seemed intent to cut. “Who are you?”

“I’m Jack, and you, my friend, are _fucked._ Lucky for you, I’ve got some free time and a bleeding heart. What’s your name, kid?”

A bleeding heart. The prospect of help had her set aside her wariness - she needed all the aid she could get. “Mary.” Jack smirked when he heard her name, stirring some recollection in her brain. Her name had made someone else smile before, when she still lived - was it Jack? Or someone like him?

“Should call yourself Briar Mary, you look like you drove a bike into a thicket. Or had an accident with a nail gun.” he snickered, gesturing at the spikes of bone growing from her shoulder. Mary tilted her head to look at them, noting that the sleeve of her shirt was torn off to accompany their presence. “Well, _Mary_.” Jack continued. “You want a helping hand your first night out, or do you want to take your chances?”

“Help.” she replied too quickly, her nerves all too evident. “Please.” she added.

“Aw, you’re polite. That’s cute. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Jack took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his vest pocket. “You smoke?”

“I don’t remember.”

Jack shrugged and slid a cigarette out of the pack, placing it between his teeth and lighting it. “You won’t get anything out of it now, but it’s a habit. Not like we need our lungs anymore, at least.” He blew a smoke ring out into the air, looking pleased with himself. “Now, we have a couple orders of business to attend to. I’m going to hazard a guess and say the Prince didn’t want to waste resources on a little orphaned sewer rat. You have a drink yet?”

“My… my sire, he gave me a cup full of blood.” Mary spoke, struggling to remember. Now she felt a pang of regret for Casimir - he had been kinder to her than the others, even if he’d brought her into this second life at the bottom of the ladder. “I don’t know when. What day is it?”

“Wasn’t that nice of him. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was his own - what a sweet dad.” Jack cooed. “It’s October 21, 2004. Halloween season, lucky for you - people on the streets might cut you a little slack if you tell them it’s a costume.”

If she still had blood, it would have drained from her face. “The last I remember it was the beginning of September.”

He let out a low whistle. “No wonder you looked like you were about to frenzy back there.” Jack cackled again. “Hoo-wee, that would’ve been a good show. You must be starving - I’m surprised you’re still standing, hedgehog.”

Mary wasn’t fond of the deformity based nicknames Jack was coming up with, but she’d take it over sneering. “I feel hollow, but I’m not hungry.”

“Not for food you aren’t, rugrat. You’re a vampire now.” He reached out and clapped her on the back. “Let’s find you a snack. After that, we’re going to have to get you some new clothes. You Nosferatu don’t really have to worry about looking nice, but it’ll make your life a little easier if you aren’t dressed like a murder victim. Which you are, but - well, tip number one - unlife’s all a big show. Fake it ‘til you make it - or die horribly.” Jack snickered, giving her a gentle push down the alley.

“What did you mean, saying I looked like I was about to frenzy?” Mary inquired, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. She ended up leaning on Jack for support - he didn’t seem to mind, too busy sniffing about. Mary wondered what for.

“I’ll tell you once you’re fed, or you’re going to find out soon and I’m going to have to ash you.” Jack perked up. “Ah. Got one. Homeless, by the smell of him. Won’t be much, but you’re new. Should do the trick.”

Sure enough, Jack led her to a parking garage. A homeless man was hunched over in its heated stairwell, sleeping - visible through the large glass windows. Mary felt a pang of sympathy - _sleeping in an archway, her possessions in a backpack on her lap_ \- memory reminding her that it was a life she once knew.

“Your clan are sneaky little assholes, so don’t worry about him waking up. Just bare those little fangs, and feed. You’ll know how.”

“I won’t kill him.” Mary replied, shaking her head. “Isn’t there-”

“Don’t _kill_ him, for chrissake.” Jack scolded, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have to kill to survive. You’ll want to drain him dry, don’t get me wrong, but stop before his lips go blue. Otherwise you’re feeding the Beast.”

“The Beast?”

“I’ll tell you once you eat.” Jack gave her a push toward the parking garage.

“Will I hurt him?” Mary asked nervously.

“Unless you’re a Giovanni who got hit by the ugly stick, nah. He might even like it. He’ll be sleepy after, so it’s not like you’re ruining his plans.”

“I don’t know who Giovanni is, but okay.”

Jack cackled.

Her footsteps were silent once she stepped onto the pavement of the parking garage. The fluorescent lights were unwelcome, bright enough to give her a mild headache. Mary’s skin prickled - the exposure was uncomfortable. Still, she gently pushed open the door to the stairwell. The man within didn’t stir, lost to deep sleep.

Mary could hear his heartbeat. She could smell his sweat, feel the warmth he radiated - she could even hear the blood rushing through his veins with each pump of his heart. In one fluid motion, as natural as breathing, she descended upon him and sank her teeth into his neck.

Unlike the ichor Casimir had given her, the man’s blood tasted thin, almost watery - but it still sent shivers of relief down her spine. Goosebumps rippled across her leathery skin, and the world around her felt sharper. The man hummed a contented moan, and she drew him closer to her, wanting more. Something within her uncoiled, paced - an awakened Beast.

Jack’s words came back to her mind along with understanding. Hastily, she released the man - though the puncture wounds in his neck still bled. Mary panicked, looking around for some way to bandage it - but instinct was pushing her back to the man. She dragged her tongue over the wound, desperate to lick up the blood before it went to waste - and the man’s wound healed.

Mary blinked down at the man’s now flawless skin, awed. He stirred, and she fled the scene.

Jack was not smiling when she returned to him. Instead he gave a grim nod of approval, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “You’re a hunter now.” he spoke lowly. “A predator. Maybe a parasite. Good job - fledglings have a bad habit of draining the first poor bastard they come across.”

“The Beast. I felt something in me, I wanted to drink more.”

“Yeah. That’s it. It’s part of being what we are. You give into it, and you’ll end up no better than an animal. You’re not human anymore, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a complete monster.” His previous good humor returned. “Best way to avoid waking it up is to make sure you don’t go hungry. Get too hungry and it’ll take over - that’s what we call a frenzy - and it’ll do whatever it takes to get some blood in you. Even if it breaks the Masquerade and gets the powers that be and hunters on your ass.”

“The Masquerade?”

Jack gestured for her to follow him. They walked through the parking garage, Jack sniffing around to make sure they weren’t about to walk right into any hapless bystanders. 

“It’s what the Camarilla - the organization that likes to think they run our little society - calls common sense. Don’t scare the humans, don’t let them know vampires exist, don’t go on killing sprees. You’ve got more to worry about as a nossie - don’t let people see you, don’t get caught on camera. It’s why you didn’t know any of this when your Sire paid you a visit, and why you’re very lucky I’m feeling nice tonight. Keep those big ears of yours open and you might make it through the week.”

Mary touched her ears self consciously - finding they were, indeed, large and pointed. If she was able to blush, she would have. Jack led her through the parking garage and onto an empty street beyond, looking for something.

“So frenzying is bad?”

“Some of us take advantage of it when we have to bust some heads. It’ll save your ass in the short term, but it’ll fuck you over if you’re not careful. Aha!” Jack found whatever he was looking for - Mary realized it was a manhole cover. He hoisted it open with little trouble and put on an elaborate display of bowing and gesturing toward it - a parody of LaCroix’s actions before she was thrown out into the night. “Ladies first.”

It got a smile out of her. She peered down the manhole - it was dark below, but in an oddly comforting way. She clambered down, and Jack followed, closing the cover above them.

Mary’s eyes adjusted to the darkness - a channel of dark water ran down the middle of the tunnel that made up the sewer system, concrete paths running along the edges. The place stank of rot and human filth - but somehow she felt safe.

“You’ll get used to the smell.” Jack said from behind her. “Your people know the sewers as well as the back of their gnarly little hands. We’ll have to find a map. Lucky for us, the poor schmucks whose job it is to go down here need maps too.”

Mary followed him down the tunnel, his footsteps echoing in the gloom, her own silent. “You mentioned busting heads. How… how often do you fight?”

“All the fuckin’ time these nights, it feels like.” Jack answered. 

“But you said I shouldn’t kill that man-”

“You shouldn’t kill the innocent. It wears you down - erases the part of you that keeps you sane. Your soul, your humanity, whatever you want to call it. Self defense is free game.” She could hear the smile in his tone. “You seem like you’ve got a good head on those spiky little shoulders, so you’ll probably know the difference. I ain’t your daddy, I won’t tell you who you should be fighting.”

Mary swallowed. “So who do you fight?”

“Anyone who fucks around and wants to find out. Sabbat, more often than not. They’re, uh… well. Animals, if I’m being honest - they say we vampires should rule the world and keep the humans under our heel, don’t give a shit about the Masquerade and hate the Camarilla, but they’re scared shitless of too much attention just like the rest of us. Bunch of hypocrites.”

“So the Camarilla are the reasonable ones?”

Jack’s laughter echoed through the tunnel system. “I’ll let you figure that one out. I’ll tell you this much - you’re not still alive because of the Camarilla. Ah, there’s our map.”

Mary jogged to catch up with Jack’s increased pace as he moved to a glass encased map on the sewer wall. “LaCroix said they - the Camarilla - left whether or not to kill me up to his discretion.”

“If it weren’t for Nines, I’m pretty sure your head would be rolling on the floor to scare Miss Velour too.” Jack replied. “Pay attention, kid - here’s where we are.” A clawed finger tapped against the glass - near a marker that read _NOCTURNE THEATRE_. “And here’s where we want to be -” Another tap at an area to the north near the shore. “- Santa Monica. Word of advice - if you see one of your clanmates, see if you can suck up enough to get yourself a folding map. Or steal one. It’ll make your life easier - pretty sure they’ve got the whole country mapped out, more or less.”

It was hard to pay attention, for something about the name _Nines_ brought forth a flash of memory - humming with freedom. _A large window, the city lights sprawling out before her, the wind in her hair_ \- hair she no longer possessed. “Nines? Rodriguez?”

“Yeah. The kid who was about two minutes away from throwing down with LaCroix.” Jack replied as they set off down the sewer paths once more. 

“I should thank him.” Mary murmured. “If LaCroix’s in charge, why’d he stand up for me?”

“LaCroix _thinks_ he’s in charge. Everyone else is humoring him.” Jack corrected. “Careful who you say that around - especially Nines, if you live long enough to meet him.”

Given that the man brought forth some of her clearer memories and saved her life, meeting him was high on her list of priorities. “I’d like to.”

“Now why he spoke up for little old you? Well…” Jack rolled his shoulders. “Don’t know if he’d like me telling you this, but I’m old enough to be his grandpappy so I will anyway. Nines is like you - he didn’t have a sire around to help him out either. Probably didn’t like seeing things play out the way they were - he’s always had a soft spot for the little guy.”

“Oh.” It explained the sympathy on the man’s face, and why it took two comrades to keep him from doing something he’d regret. It brought another question to her mind. “When they were about to kill my sire - Casimir - I felt like I was going to die, but once he was dead I felt fine. Well, not fine, I thought I was going to die, but… not because of him.”

“That’s a blood bond. Dangerous business.” Jack shook his head. “They’re natural between Sire and Childe, but you can make them yourself. Drink another vampire’s blood three times and you’re brainwashed - the worst part is you don’t even know it. They end once the person who gave it dies - it can be pretty traumatizing. Some people lose it. You’re lucky you just went back to normal.”

Mary hummed, staring at her feet for a few moments. “What happened with Nines when he lost his sire?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know, but he’s here now so it didn’t fuck him up as bad as it could. He’s a good kid, soft spoken. Doesn’t stop him from being a force of nature when he has to be.” Jack turned to flash her a smile. “That’s Brujah for you. Nines takes things a little too seriously for me, but hey, youngsters usually do. If you live long enough, you’ll realize everything boils down to same shit, different decade.”

“It sounds exhausting.”

“You make your own fun. Speaking of which - you see that?” He pointed to a floating mass in the cloudy water, on which a trio of rats were picking through filth.

“The rats?”

“They’re like juice boxes. Good hit of blood if you’re in deep shit and can’t hunt normally. Most animals are, but those little guys are easiest to find in the city. Your clan’s pretty fond of them. Kind of a stereotype, actually.”

“That why you called me a sewer rat?”

“You’ll hear worse insults than that. Think of it as me preparing you. Toughen up, or you’re going to have problems.”

Her future was looking more and more unpleasant. Mary fell silent.

They walked for what felt like hours, Jack filling her in on the basic details of the new reality she found herself in. Mary learned that vampires (the thought that they existed and she was one of them still boggled her mind) were as varied as dogs, consisting of different breeds (clans, Jack had corrected once he stopped laughing) each with their own curse. Mary had drawn the short straw, it sounded like - her clan bore the curse of monstrosity - but Jack told her it came with a few perks. Invisibility and hitting like a mack truck, for starters.

Most of his advice boiled down to picking her fights wisely and trying not to make enemies until she had a few people she could rely on - a rarity, from the way Jack described it. Trust was a difficult thing to earn, and something to be given out rarely. 

As time passed, Mary grew a little nervous. “LaCroix mentioned something about sunrise. Do we… you know. Die?”

“Catch a sunrise and it’s all over, kiddo.” Jack replied. “Fire’s nearly as bad if you don’t find a pool to jump in real quick. Forget about stop drop and roll, you might as well have gasoline flowing through those veins. Bullets feel like mosquito bites - annoying, but not too bad. Shotgun blasts’ll sting. Knives and claws will tear you up if the person using them knows what they’re doing, and a brick to the head hurts no matter who you are. But all the stereotypical Dracula shit? Holy water and crosses are worthless, man. Stakes gotta hit your heart, and then they just paralyze you. If you’ve got enough blood in your system you can heal up a lot of damage, one of many reasons why it’s good to keep hydrated, sunshine. Play your cards right, though, and you might live long enough to see the end of the world.” He paused in front of a placard next to rusting metal rungs that led upward. “Here’s our stop.”

Jack took the lead, clambering up and pushing the manhole cover over. Mary followed, crawling out onto damp asphalt. It was raining, and in the distance she could hear waves. They’d exited onto an empty street lined with tourist shops. Their lit signs, bright with images of the sun and beach, reminded her of what she’d never see again. Colored light was reflected off the pavement, making it seem almost like it was painted. Mary was awestruck - she was noticing things she never had before, every detail glistening.

“Don’t tell me you’re part Toreador.” Jack elbowed her in the ribs. “Quit gawking, it’s getting late. Pick your poison - we’re getting you some new threads, five finger discount.”

“Uh.” Mary glanced around, pointing at the first place that caught her interest - a little corner store with a neon sign that was a waving palm tree and setting sun. _‘PALM CITY’_ , hawking wares for tourists with too much money and too little sense.

“After you.”

They approached the store - Mary caught sight of a surfing shark figurine on top of a sunglass display in the window, and couldn’t help but smile. Seeing her reflection in the window soon wiped it from her face, however. Jack directed her to the back of the building where no street lights shone. Mary found the backdoor, a worn ‘employees only’ sign hanging sideways by a single nail. She tried the handle. Locked.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a screwdriver and paperclip on you?” Mary asked over her shoulder, earning a wry grin from Jack. He tossed over what looked like a swiss army knife, but instead of a blade and corkscrew she found various picks. As she ran her fingers along it, something about it felt familiar. Images of fireworks danced in her mind.

“It’s not mine, so I’m gonna want it back.” Jack broke her from her reverie, and she knelt down and set to work.

The lock was simple - probably some cheap shit from a hardware store. Mary made short work of it and crept inside. No alarm went off - thank god.

“Not exactly an angel in life, were you?” Jack hummed from behind her. 

Mary could recall running from flashing lights, but lacked any context for the memory. She knew how to lockpick, and that was hint enough. “Not really, I guess.”

She handed Jack his lockpick back while her eyes adjusted to the dark store. Directly across from them were change rooms with curtains instead of doors. The neon lights outside poured in through the front windows, outlining the clothes racks. Hat stands and shelves with folded swimsuits lined the walls, hanging sandals and floor length mirrors taking up space alongside them. The till was on a tiny counter sandwiched near the front corner of the building and was surrounded by various souvenir knick-knacks. The place was musty - Mary wondered how old the building was.

Jack walked to the till, glancing around. “No cameras.” He flapped a hand in the direction of the clothes racks. “Find some new duds, just don’t make a fashion show out of it. I don’t think anyone’s going to come poking around here this time of night, but it smells like old people.”

With a nod Mary started to weave her way through the racks - in life she’d worn a medium, but when she held up a shirt of that size to her body it was far from skintight. 

“Word of advice, Briar Mary.” Jack called from the till, ripping the drawer of it open and scooping out a handful of bills. “Get something stretchy or pull a sleeve off. Not that I don’t want to see you try to get something over those spines of yours, might be good for a laugh.”

She glared at him before pawing through the racks in search of something elastic. Finding a black spaghetti strap tank top, she pulled off her bloodied t-shirt - it ripped again as she pulled it past her spikes. Jack snickered in the background. Mary had a black sports bra underneath, stretchy enough to be undamaged - she tried not to look too closely at her skin as she changed into the new top. Having bare arms wasn’t something she welcomed - but then, she supposed it wasn’t as if hiding them would do her appearance any more favors. Her face was bad enough.

Mary tossed her old shirt into a trash can and moved to find a pair of pants. Jack was now busying himself at the sunglass display, peering at himself in the mirror with a pair of aviators. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a pair of cargo pants, figuring so many pockets would probably come in handy - she tucked the card LaCroix had given her into one of them, her only possession. The waist was terribly loose on her, but the problem was solved with a snatched belt. Her old pants met the same fate as her shirt.

“Finally done?” Jack called over, and she nodded. He handed her a pair of shades as they walked back to the door, and placed a baseball cap that read ‘I <3 LA’ on her bald head. “There. Now you look like a tourist.”

“Thanks.” Mary muttered, tugging the glasses off. She didn’t think she’d ever have a use for them - if she was out in sunlight, it being too bright for her eyes was the least of her problems.

With the door shut behind them, Jack patted her on her smooth shoulder. “Welcome to Santa Monica, kid. Home of beachgoers and burnouts, according to the locals. Where’d LaCroix want you to go?”

She handed him the card - he glanced at the address then flipped it over. 

“Business card too, huh. Couldn’t waste a chance to self promote.” Jack clicked his tongue. “Good news - only a few blocks to your new place. Shouldn’t be too many people out at 4 AM on a Thursday - let’s get some fresh air.”

Mary hung close behind Jack as they walked down the sidewalk instead. It was still raining - misting, more than anything - but droplets of water soon started to run down her skin. To her relief she didn’t feel the cold. In fact, it was almost refreshing - maybe it’d wash the stink of the sewers from her. Given the way LaCroix had wrinkled his nose at her, she wondered if it was just something she had naturally. The thought made her scowl.

True to Jack’s word, the streets were nearly barren - they only saw one other pedestrian, and they were on the other side of the street. Occasionally a car would drive by, the bass of the music inside loud enough for all to hear - and each time they’d continue on their merry way, paying her strange silhouette no mind.

“Humans are kind of dumb.” Jack explained after Mary looked almost offended when the fourth car passed with no change. “They’re caught up in their own heads, thinking about what was on TV last night, wondering if Karen from Finance is into them - they’re too distracted to look at strangers in the distance if you don’t make a big scene. Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get around easy.”

“They aren’t that dumb.” she protested. “I mean, we were human.”

Another belly laugh from Jack. “You’re precious, briar patch. Yeah, we were - and we didn’t notice anything then either. Don’t take it so personally. You and I are a different breed now, it’s best not to get too caught up in what the pinkies are doing.”

Pinkies. Mary supposed that humans did look very pink, compared to her and Jack’s complexion. She fell silent as they turned onto a dreary street - one she recognized from the business card. A pawn shop sat at the far end of the street across from a medical clinic with a flickering sign.

“There’s your castle, princess.” Jack piped up. “This is where we part ways. Once the sun’s about to rise you’re going to start feeling pretty sleepy. Make sure whatever shithole haven LaCroix’s given you is safe before you conk out, because once the exhaustion hits you’re not getting up before sunset unless you’re on fire.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Mary muttered - she supposed she meant it, but the man had a habit of phrasing things in a way that made her stomach twist.

“Oh, and kid - if you make it downtown, stop by the Last Round. Pretty sure you’ll have a million more questions if you live that long, and you’ll probably have trouble getting anyone else to answer them.”

“Where are you going?”

Jack flashed her a wide grin. “I’ve got a boat to catch. Stay out of trouble!”

Before Mary could say any more, Jack was gone - just _gone_ , disappeared in the moment it took her to blink. Alone on the rainy street, she figured the only thing to do was to discover her new home - and get somewhere safe before the sun rose.

As she walked down the street she peered into open windows - the faint outlines of tables in a cafe that she’d never enter, its hours daylight only. Human silhouettes moved in the medical clinic and in the windows of apartment buildings. At last she made it to the pawn shop - it was brightly lit, open 24 hours. Convenient, though she wondered what the reaction would be if she entered. With a sinking feeling she supposed that was the question that would define the rest of her life - whether or not the sight of her would cause a panic.

The entrance to the apartments above was down a narrow alley at the pawn shop’s side. A racoon was eating a rotting burrito on top of the dumpster at its end. It hissed at her approach and slipped under the lid. Mary sighed and opened the door.

It was warm in the stairwell - she wondered if the building was air conditioned, it seemed fairly old. The wallpaper was peeling, the carpet stained - the mailboxes at the wall were battered, the name for the apartment she was to occupy scratched out. Jack was right, it was a shithole.

Still, she felt eager to see her new home - to have a home at all, for that matter. Mary ascended the stairs quickly - she heard no movement in the other apartments and found herself thankful for it. The place LaCroix had granted her was the last door at the end of the hall, and she couldn’t help but skip to it. Her claws scratched the wood of the door as she struggled with the key, but soon it was open, and the place LaCroix had called her Haven greeted her.

A rusting bed frame had a stained mattress tossed haphazardly on top of it, lacking sheets and a pillow. There was an equally battered looking desk tucked into the corner, against a wall that was covered in plywood - covering windows that the curtains didn’t reach. A laptop sat on its surface along with a couple of folded notes - something she was intent on leaving until she woke up the next night. There was a television set too, old enough to have an antenna sticking out of it and a rotary dial. The contrast in technology levels from the laptop made her smile. 

The refrigerator hummed noisily nearby - when she pulled it open she found it empty of all food. Instead three packs of red liquid were sitting on the bottom shelf - blood, she realized. AB+. From her memories of biology class, it wasn’t terribly useful to the human population and she wondered if it’d taste like it, too.

Mary wasn’t thirsty, and so she let the fridge door close. The rest of the tiny kitchen was a disaster, cabinet doors hanging on haphazardly if they weren’t missing at all. A boombox sat on the counter, though she saw no CDs -something else to pick up if she had the time. A fierce desire to hear music came over her, and when she hit the power button and heard the still familiar songs of the Billboard Top 40 she found herself overwhelmed.

Stifling tears, she felt partly embarrassed at how emotional simple pop music had made her - but with every chirped verse and every bright beat the isolation she felt from the old world was heightened. Hastily she started channel flipping, hoping to find a station that wasn’t so high energy.

_“Hey there L.A - up late tonight, aren’t we? You’re listening to the Deb of Night, on KTRK. Call and say what’s on your mind - remember, this isn’t a sex line. The switchboard’s lighting up-”_

The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, but oddly soothing. It helped her feel a little less alone. Mary walked to the apartment window and watched the rain trail down the glass for a few moments, marvelling at how each droplet caught the light. She could see the sky starting to lighten, pitch black turning to navy. Next would be lavender, then lilac, then a kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges before finally shifting to bright blue. A spectrum of color - it hit Mary that she’d never see half of it with her own eyes again.

She shut the curtain and stared at the stained mattress. Even looking the way she did she didn’t want to risk it - she made a mental note to see if she could steal some bed sheets or, even better, an air mattress. 

Instead she walked into the bathroom - she’d slept in a bathtub before and wasn’t opposed to the idea now - but all it held was a shower stall. The mirror in front of the medicine cabinet caught her attention, and at last Mary surrendered and looked herself in the eye.

In the yellowing flourescent light of the bathroom she was a terrible sight - the candlelight Casimir had provided shielded her from much of the detail of herself, but artificial sources granted no such mercy. Mary could see her skin was scaled in parts, cracked where it was thicker much like her Sire’s. The skin on her neck where he had bitten her caught the light in a way that reminded her of holographic trading cards. The flesh at her shoulder was broken apart to let the bone spikes through, dark veins trailing away from them. There were worse things to resemble than a hedgehog or pincushion, she supposed - and when she touched their tips with her finger she found them quite sharp. 

While the idea of fighting anything frightened her, at least they might come in handy.

Mary stared at her face, trying to see anything that might have resembled what she used to look like. She tilted her head, examined every angle, and was disappointed. Whatever Mary had been, she was no longer. Casimir was right - her metamorphosis was complete.

The oven clock read 5 AM when she re-entered the main room of the apartment, and true to Jack’s word a strange drowsiness settled over her. It was intense, as if she’d had too much to smoke or drink - like a great hand was pushing her head into the waters of unconsciousness. Mary fought it off long enough to stumble to the bed, no longer concerned with the level of filth.

At the end of her first night as a vampire, the last thing Mary heard was ripping cloth as her shoulder spikes sliced into the mattress.

\---

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Like a metronome, blood droplets kept the rhythm. Andrei moved with it like a conductor, sweeping his arms in great and complex motions, bending the energy within his latest sculpture. The screams provided the most wonderful melody - he twisted his fingers into the vocal cords, plucking them and changing the pitch, his other hand pulling the lungs wider. In his workshop, he was free - enacting his will on reality, exacting fine and precise control.

A door opened, interrupting his symphony. He tilted his head in the direction of the intruder, ready to unleash a very particular kind of scolding involving his beloved Vicissitude. Unfortunately for him, his guest happened to be of a breed immune to his talents.

It was a Creep - Sabbat aligned Nosferatu, curse so innate that no art could alter it. This particular creep was a rising star among Andrei’s brethren - he could never remember their name, but the black pits it possessed instead of eyes were recognizable enough. Young, with all the energy and viciousness youth provided. An interesting canvas - one he wished he could shape to its full potential.

“Archbishop.” The creep began, bowing low. “You said to interrupt if we found anything. I know why the Camarilla were meeting.”

Andrei stepped back from his work, letting his sculpture wheeze in the background, strung up from hooks in its back. “Be quick. Inspiration flows within me.”

“One of my clan, an elder. His name was Casimir. He sired a childe - the false prince let it live, but killed the sire. He was a spy-”

“I know of Casimir.” Andrei interrupted, ice in his tone. “He once served the Sword of Caine - a Noddist scholar. We were of a similar mind, once. To find he was a puppet of the Camarilla, stealing our secrets… disappointed me. He lived these centuries all along, only to die here? Curious. Where is the childe?”

“I followed it to the sea - Santa Monica. The false prince has it in his hands, but the Anarchs -” The creep spit. “ - are trying to move in, I think.”

“An interesting movement on the board - what is the play, I wonder.” Andrei mused aloud. “Casimir was a coward - choosing death over the crusade, like all of his ilk. The childe must have purpose - potent blood, if nought else. Born under the Red Star… a blade against the _Niktuku_ , perhaps.”

As soon as the word left Andrei’s lips, the creep shuddered - nervously eyeing the double doors of Andrei’s workshop that led to the tunnels beneath Los Angeles. “Should I make contact, Archbishop?”

“Yes.” Andrei answered. “And so shall I. We must intercept it before the mind is poisoned by the lies of the Ancients and strings are tied to its limbs. Tell it to meet me at the end of the pier at midnight’s stroke tomorrow.”

The creep blinked - an audience from Andrei was no small matter. A nod. “Yes, archbishop.”

“Leave me.”

Like a roach the creep scurried away. Andrei turned back to his work with a smile.

“A pity to lose an old friend. His debt to me will be repaid through his childe - would you like to meet them, my creation?”

The mass of flesh wept, and the symphony began anew.


	3. Santa Monica I

Mary dreamed of unending tunnels - a maze she could not escape from.

It made waking a relief - though to her confusion she found it was dark. Panic shot through her, realizing she must have missed work - she reached her hand out for her nightstand and where her flip phone should be, wondering why no one from the office had called when she slept through her alarm.

Her hand brushed through thin air. For a moment she thought she’d lost her mind - until her head cleared enough to hear the sultry tones of Deb’s late night radio show coming from the boombox on the counter. Like a released elastic her memory caught up with the events of the past night and she collapsed further into the stained mattress beneath her.

“It wasn’t a dream.” she murmured aloud, still unsure of her feelings on the matter. Mary squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think.

 _Stay alive_ , Rodriguez had mouthed to her. That was her priority. Survival. Which made the first order of the day - _night_ , she corrected herself - feeding.

Trying to hunt down some hapless human so soon made her nervous - that was an order for when she felt a little more in control of her limbs. Instead, as she had done many days and nights before, Mary crawled out of bed and walked to the fridge. A shaft of light spilled across the kitchen floor when she opened the door. Mary squinted into the bright interior, eyes adjusting to the change in light levels. She pawed around in search of the blood packs, claws scraping against the plastic shelving until she found one. Mary turned it over in her hands, trying to figure out precisely how she was supposed to drink out of the thing. Part of her was tempted to try and find a straw to drink out of it like a juice packet.

Maybe later. For the moment she settled on tearing off the tab the IV line was meant to connect to with her teeth - they were sharper than any blade, surprising her. Any thought beyond that was cut off when her eyes settled on the droplets of crimson liquid now dripping from the bag - she held it to her mouth and drank deep.

It was cool, somewhat thin, and felt wrong. The blood still did the job, awareness returning to her in full and her limbs humming with power, but it was like drinking a protein shake instead of eating a warm meal. Practical, but unfulfilling.

The bag crinkled in her hands, now empty. She dropped it in the trash can, wondering if anyone would suspect a few bags full of nothing but drained blood packs in the dumpster outside. Another question to ask. Closing the fridge door, the room was cast once more into darkness - Mary walked to the window and tugged the curtains open, causing the flashing red light of the medical clinic across the street and the dim orange of dying streetlights to flood her room.

Now that it was illuminated, Mary finally approached the notes on her desk. One was a folded envelope, the card material buttery smooth to the touch. Written on the front in black ink were gothic initials in expert calligraphy - so expert and fancy that she had trouble discerning _what_ letters they were supposed to be. When she opened it she was met with much the same attention to penmanship, detailing an invitation from a Maximillian Strauss and a riddle to solve for his whereabouts. He was Downtown, that much he offered - and so the card was set aside, a problem for later. Something to worry about if she ever made it out of Santa Monica.

The second note was scrawled down on lined paper that looked like it was torn out of a spiral notebook, a complete opposite to the well crafted invitation. In quick strokes the log-in info for her new email was written down, along with instructions to read whatever was in her inbox. They didn’t need to tell her twice. Turning on the laptop, she was greeted by the time for the first time that night - 11:14 PM. Mary usually woke up more than twelve hours earlier for work. The last time she’d slept in so late had been _years_ ago.

A glimmer of memory. _A sliver of moonlight through the window, static on TV. “I work nights.”_

Mary blinked and shook her head in an attempt to clear it, trying to focus on the laptop. She found it was a little harder to hit the keys with claws a few inches long, but it didn’t take long for her to adapt. The click of each key press and the hum of the computer fan was comforting - an echo she was familiar with, hitting the same frequency in her mind as Nines Rodriguez’ voice. Memories flooded back to her - testing firewalls, social engineering her way into databases over the phone, dropping USB sticks and seeing where they’d travel. Sitting down in a cubicle every day and _loving_ it, having a career that excited her, having a place of her own to return to every night without a care in the world.

Human life. Whatever her career was, it had to do with net security. That didn’t bother her - what bothered her was that things she was certain were strictly inhuman scratched the same place in her mind that more banal memories did. A vampire and her living days were connected. Why?

Survival was her top priority, but after that Mary fully intended to take Jack up on his offer and visit the Last Round. If she closed her eyes, she could even remember what the sign looked like. Maybe she’d seen him there - but she didn’t remember being fond of bars. Mary didn’t remember being fond of crowds in general. Like Jack had said, her questions were only growing - and she wanted answers.

Unfortunately her inbox had little in the way of insight - only two messages awaiting her. One was an email from Mercurio, the agent LaCroix had spoken of.

_I hope the Haven is to your liking. There’s blood in the fridge, if you haven’t found it yet. The TV gets basic cable. You have to hit it if the picture goes fuzzy - .you might want to pick up a newspaper subscription if you want to keep up with anything current. I left you a wallet and some cash in the desk drawer to get you started. You can find me in one of the condos next door - number four._

_Before you see me you should visit a club called the Asylum and tell the owner, Therese Voerman, that you’re here. It’s the next street over. According to the boss she’s trying to run the show here, and your people are supposed to announce yourselves when you show up on someone’s turf. When you’re done, come say hi. I’ve got work for you._

_M_

The man seemed nice enough - Mary’s pale eyes scanned through the email, one sentence in particular standing out to her as she read it. In a scramble she pulled open the desk drawers, perilously aware of her own total lack of possessions. True to his word, Mercurio had left her a wallet - devoid of a driver's license or credit cards, but holding ten twenty dollar bills within. Mary whistled and slipped it into her back pocket before turning her attention back to the computer. Not bad.

The second email was from _a friend_.

_The game begins. A pawn is moved._

Mary was tempted to delete it, to dismiss it as spam - but from what she could tell her email was hosted on a secure server - one she’d never heard of before. Her email address must have been as new as she was. How would any spam mail find her? Maybe it was what vampire spam mail looked like. She’d take cryptic messages over penis enlargement ads and faux Nigerian princes. Whatever it was, she didn’t delete it. Something about it felt eerie.

Mary had one last thing to do before she left for the night - it didn’t really fall into the realm of survival, but it was a nagging thought at the back of her mind. Hesitantly she opened an internet browser and entered in the address for her real email - her _old_ email. Muscle memory was a lifesaver when it came time to enter her password. There was a strange anxiety hovering about her as she waited for the page to load. Mary had been dead for over a month, and she didn’t know what response she wanted to see.

The inbox she had when she lived was much fuller - a few inquiries from work she’d replied to, spam. There weren’t too many new emails - three from her landlord telling her she’d missed her rent payment and wasn’t answering her phone, getting increasingly frantic before the last one said he was calling the cops. A few emails were from clients she must have been doing freelance work for, asking for updates and also threatening to call the police. Two were from coworkers, inquiring for help on projects - Mary wondered if they’d ever received it.

All in all, less than ten messages. The entire butterfly effect of her death was summed up in ten emails. Mary didn’t expect any weepy emails from family or friends - from what she could remember she didn’t really have connections in life. It made her feel better and worse about her current situation - loneliness was something she’d been used to even in life, she’d manage it well enough now. Yet still she wondered. Did anyone even bother with a funeral? Who would have planned it?

Mary shut the laptop with prejudice and left the apartment, locking the door behind her. She needed air - even if her lungs didn’t.

The sight that greeted her when she exited into the alley nearly made her scream.

Squatting on the fence in front of her was a grotesque gargoyle - except its face moved, breaking into a jagged tooth grin. Mary’s body tensed instinctively, her knees bending to keep her ready to move - but she realized quickly enough that the creature’s appearance mirrored her own. Mottled grey skin, bald, large ears, odd and mangled teeth…

The gargoyle in front of her - the stranger - was set apart from her in one obvious manner. They had no eyes.

“Good evening.” The stranger purred.

“Who are you?” Sharing a common ancestor with the being in front of her was not enough to quell her nerves.

“You can call me Creep.” The stranger bowed and hopped down to the ground. When they stood they were shorter than Mary was, thanks to a hunch in their back. “Pleasure to meet you. You are?” Creep thrust out a clawed hand, as if expecting Mary to shake it.

She did so, finding their grip clammy. She wondered if hers was the same. “... Mary.”

“Mary.” Creep clapped their hands together - at least they didn’t snicker at her name. “I come bearing an invitation for you.”

“That makes two in one night.” Mary muttered, thinking back to the card on her desk. “Invitation from who?”

“His name is Andrei. He knew your sire.”

That got Mary’s attention - her mental to-do list shuffled, making room for an audience with this Andrei as soon as possible. “Where can I find him?”

“He will be waiting for you at the end of the pier tomorrow night. Only tomorrow night.” Creep replied, clicking their claws together.

Mary frowned. “And he couldn’t come see me himself because…?”

A cackle. “You of all people should know that not all of us can walk the streets so freely. The invitation stands. Take it, or don’t.”

Any information about her sire carried with it answers. Even so, Mary didn’t know if she could trust Creep - they smelled of blood and ash, and the air seemed thicker around them. She’d say it gave her a bad feeling, but it didn’t, not really. Their presence just seemed to lift a veil that had been laid over the atmosphere, revealing an underrunning current of unease beating like the city’s heart.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Mary answered noncommittally. Creep shrugged, clambered up the dumpster and hopped back over the fence.

While she may have been a shut-in in life, she seemed to be popular in undeath.

Walking down the alleyway was a frightening prospect, though it was barren. Approaching the street beyond unnerved her - with every footstep her ears were straining to listen for those of another. If she was seen, she was dead. That much had been laid out for her.

When Mary dared to stick her head out of the alleyway and scout out the street she found it positively bustling in comparison. Two women stood smoking outside of the tattoo parlor across the street. A police officer lingered by the medical clinic. A girl skateboarded down the street, weaving around a group of youths dressed for a night on the town. They were headed for a wide alley that cut by the medical clinic, and she assumed they shared the same destination she did.

Unless there were two nightclubs the next street over. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing that’d happened to her that night.

Following the youths would be a different matter entirely. It wasn’t as if she could walk behind him, the spikes at her shoulder made her look like she’d been in a workplace accident. There was a manhole not too far off, but how many were there on any given street? It seemed like such a stupid thing not to have taken note of in her life, a tiny detail she’d always ignored. Now it bit her in the ass. She’d have to do some walking in the open no matter what.

Mary’s fingers scratched at the shadows - she found the action soothed her nerves. An idea struck - if she could pull them around her, perhaps she could pull them with her.

A little tug, that familiar sinking feeling, and she was enveloped. One step forward, and it was as if the shadows had caught on something. Closing her eyes she tried to sense where the snag was by delicately shifting her claws. When the shadow grew tight, she twisted her wrist and pulled it free. She felt as if she’d estimated an extra step going down the stairs, her stomach flipping when the shadows moved with her on her next step.

It cost blood. She could feel it, the subtle drain like a cup of coffee wearing off. Invisibility wasn’t free.

At least it’d make hunting easier.

For now, though, she had her mission. Scurrying down the street and keeping the penumbral cloak around her, she felt the thrill of subterfuge. No one looked her way - she was able to see people as they existed in their own little world, unobserved. She could stay and people watch for hours, but instead caught up to the gaggle of twenty-somethings on their way to the club.

“This alley’s creepy.” A girl in a red mesh top and leather pants whispered, passing by the last light in it - propped over a door at the side of the medical clinic that read _‘BLOOD BANK - OPEN FOR DONATIONS 10 AM - 7PM’._

“Oh my god, it’s like two weeks until Halloween. Stop it.” Another girl groaned, pulling down the hem of her black dress. It rode up as she walked, and she tugged it down again and again when she thought no one was looking. Mary felt a little odd for eavesdropping.

“Asylum’s running stuff all month for it, give Kristen some slack.” A young man replied - his hair artfully dishevelled and brown eyes rimmed with dark liner. “It’s basically Halloween.”

“Yeah, Ashley.” Kristen stuck her tongue out. The rest of the group - two more young women and a youth who had embraced androgyny - snickered.

Ashley rolled her eyes. “Ethan’s just saying that ‘cause he wants some of _your_ candy.”

Mary could hear their heartbeats, their skin seemed paper thin. They were alone in the alley - just a few paper dolls and her. If she swept her arm wide enough, she could slash four of them open with her claws at once. The others would run, but she’d be faster, catch them before they really knew what was happening, and then she would feast.

“Why’d we even bring you along?” Kristen whined, shaking Mary from her thoughts. She slipped by the group in a hurry, unwilling to linger by them in the dark alley.

Jack had said that she didn’t need to kill to feed. She was intent to keep things that way.

It wasn’t like finding Asylum would be hard, now that she’d turned a corner down the alley. On the side of the building to her right a sign reading the name was all lit up - and Mary could feel the reverberating bass inside even from where she stood. Exiting the alley she saw a crowd of people smoking out front - some in fanciful costumes and masks. A poster on the front door advertised costume contests every night for the entire month of October.

Whoever Therese was, she knew how to party.

Getting to the front door was easy enough - opening it was another matter entirely. Every time Mary made a move to grasp the handle, her grip on the shadows around her slipped - as if they were recoiling from contact with anything else. After several attempts at getting them to stay, to Mary’s fortune a human finished their smoke break and pulled open the door, letting her slink in after them.

The music hit her first. Pounding industrial beats that rattled her ribcage, contrasted against a delicate female vocalist. A thin haze of smoke hung in the air and multicolored lights flashed over the dance floor. The walls were red, but papered with posters of various bands. Mary wondered if any had ever been taken down.

She stepped carefully through the club - it was large and spacious, an old dance hall, and most of the clientele seemed interested in beelining between the bar and dance floor. Some were in costume, others wore elaborate outfits and makeup. Seeing the varied and multicolored styles of hair on display had Mary missing what she’d once had.

It distracted her - she bumped into someone, and that sinking feeling returned. Suddenly a few people in the ground were glancing at her - she was seen, she was _seen_. Casimir hadn’t warned her - no one had warned her - like the clock striking midnight, touching anyone broke the spell.

“Whoa! Hey girl!” A voice greeted her - the person she’d bumped into. A young man, young as the gaggle of college kids she’d eavesdropped on. His eyes were golden and seemed to shine even in the dim light of the club, and his smile felt like it lit up the room. A smile that was directed at her.

Mary returned his smile reflexively, then faltered, wondering if it was such a good idea to flash her fucked up dental situation. “Uh. Hi.”

It only seemed to excite the golden-eyed man further. “Oh shit! Oh man. I didn’t know you could have-” He reached out to touch one of the spikes on her shoulder and immediately pricked his finger. “Aw jeez, that’s sharp. I never thought I’d see another Nosferatu!”

Tension rippled through her body. “Y-yeah?” she stammered. “It’s from an old movie, so it’s not really a popular costume - it’s not as cool as Blade but I didn’t really think I could pull that off, and I’m really into special effects makeup, so...”

He sucked the tip of his now bleeding finger and looked positively delighted about it. “Aw, c’mon, girl. You don’t have to pretend that’s a costume! I totally know the score. My master’s like you!”

If Mary was able to go a shade paler, she would have. “How…” She stepped closed to the man so she didn’t have to shout. “Who are you and how the _fuck_ do you know what I am?” she hissed.

“I’m Knox!” Knox chirped, his smile unfaltering. “I’m a ghoul.”

She squinted up at him, somewhat upset he was somehow a foot taller than she was. “You’re… dead?”

“Maybe one day!” The morbid subject didn’t break his stride. “If I’m really good at my job. Whoa! Am I the first ghoul you’ve ever met? Oh, man!”

Talking to Knox felt like the rest of the world had entered slow motion with how quickly he spoke and the sheer amount of energy that bobbed around him. “Uh. Yeah. It’s… kind of my first night out.”

“I thought I smelled blood.” Purred a voice from behind Mary - before she could react alabaster arms had slipped around her shoulders, deftly avoiding the spikes Knox had pricked his finger on. Mary blinked, realizing she was being hugged from behind. “Is this okay?” The voice hummed against Mary’s ear now, and she found herself unable to move.

“... yeah.” Mary found herself replying, the contact oddly nice.

The voice lifted away from her ear. “Hello, Knox.”

Knox seemed almost bashful. “Aw, man, Jeanette. Is it okay if I hang here a bit? It’s kinda scary out there with… you know.”

“Don’t let Therese catch you.” Jeanette replied, her fingers tracing over Mary’s collarbones. It was strangely soothing. “Is this a friend of Bertie’s?”

“No.” Mary spoke at last, and Jeanette’s alabaster arms slithered away from her. She felt strangely dazed, but was now free to turn and look at the newcomer.

She looked like she’d walked out of a pop music video with her too-short schoolgirl outfit, though her eyeliner was running artfully down pale cheeks. Mary wondered if it was her costume. “Oh.” Jeanette pouted, looking over at Knox. “I miss him. Have you told him that, my little passenger pigeon?”

Mary could make out fangs behind red painted lips as Jeanette spoke.

“Maybe the new girl can help!” Knox replied, though his smile edged on nervous.

Jeanette looked at her appraisingly. “Are you our guardian angel? Don’t worry, the real ones are supposed to look monstrous. I’m Jeanette, and this…” Those alabaster arms swept wide, and Jeanette did a little spin on the spot. “... is my club.” She came to a stop, her blonde pigtails still waving. “Have you come to answer our prayers?”

“I’m Mary.” It felt odd introducing herself to a woman who’d done the same with a hug, but some part of her brain was yelling something about professionalism. “I’m actually here to see Therese. Something about announcing myself?”

That drew a full body pout from Jeanette - Mary didn’t even know they were possible, but somehow she made it work. “Oh. What’s happening to this city? No one comes to visit me anymore, it’s always Therese.”

Mary’s arms hung awkwardly at her sides. “I’m sorry.”

At once the pout evaporated. “Go dance! I’ll get Therese to let you up. Give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Jeanette winked. “Ten minutes.”

There wasn’t enough time to tell Jeanette that she absolutely did not dance and that dancing with arguably lethal weapons sticking out of her was a very bad idea, because by the time Mary had found the words the club owner was already happily skipping to an elevator in the corner.

“Is she always like that?” Mary looked over her shoulder at Knox.

He shrugged. “Aw man, don’t make me answer that. All of you vampires are pretty weird.”

Pretty weird was an understatement. She pressed her lips together and felt a nudge at her elbow.

“You wanna dance?”

It raised her hackles and her suspicions. “With me? Are your eyes like that because you’re blind?”

“Nah, that’s the vamp blood.” Knox frowned for the first time. “Just because you’re a cool vampire doesn’t mean you have to be mean, you know.”

Maybe he was blind. Whatever his affliction, her appearance didn’t seem to register with him in the slightest. Mary had to take it as a plus, given that as he spoke she watched a girl at the bar choke on her drink when she caught sight of Mary.

“I didn’t mean to be mean. I’m sorry, Knox.”

Knox stared at her. “Oh, _man_!” he finally exclaimed. “No one’s ever apologized to me!”

It was Mary’s turn to frown - she pursed her lips. “Why not? You’re nice. Is there- You said vamp blood, but you’re alive… are you a daywalker or something?”

“I told you, I’m a ghoul!” Knox beamed again. “My master made me drink his blood, and now life is awesome! I can see everything, man, and when I’m sucking on that nasty dude’s wrist I feel like I could outrun a train! And look -” He held his hand out to her, wiggling the finger he’d cut on her spikes. It was completely healed. “- all better! I just have to run a few jobs for the boss and I get to be a superhero.”

Her brows furrowed, remembering Jack’s lessons in the sewer. “So it’s a blood bond with a human?”

Knox shrugged. “I dunno. My master doesn’t tell me that sort of thing, and I don’t ask. I don’t want to piss him off, you know? I don’t know if I could go back to normal. Aw jeez, could you imagine?”

Mary stared flatly at him, and Knox had the sense to look embarrassed.

“Okay, maybe you’d like to go back to normal.” Knox winced. “My master doesn’t mind, so I thought all of you were okay with it.”

“I don’t know what we’re all okay with. The only person like me I’ve seen is…” Mary trailed off. She was going to say her Sire, but memory of the Creep on her doorstep returned unwelcome.

“You guys turn invisible, you might be everywhere!” Knox exclaimed.

It did the opposite of exciting her - the idea of being watched by unseen eyes wasn’t a welcome one. “... I should go see Therese.”

“Aw, man. Okay!” Knox beamed. “Come say hi before you leave. I promise I won’t make you dance.”

“Okay, Knox.”

Moving through the club without her cloak of shadows around her was stressing. She saw a few people gag as she passed them - someone on the dancefloor stopped dead in their tracks once they laid eyes on her. The gaggle of youths from the alleyway had entered, and Kristen let out a shriek upon seeing her. Ethan only laughed, shouting over the music.

“Awesome costume, lady!”

Mary smiled, thankful that whatever Casimir’s plans for her were, they at least thrust her onto a population that had a reason for her to look the way she did. Halloween was always her favorite holiday - she’d been given a new reason to like it, now that she couldn’t eat chocolate.

The elevator was old - she had to pull the grate open and shut to enter, and inside there were only two buttons - up and down. Mary wondered how old the place was as she jammed her thumb onto the up button. Metal creaked and groaned as the elevator moved upward, the pounding music below growing muffled with her ascent. Now she could smell old paper and hardwood, and when the elevator opened a strange mix of florals and chemicals stung her nostrils.

It wasn’t just the music that was muffled. Stepping onto the front landing she could hear faint arguing through the wall - whatever Jeanette’s method of convincing Therese was, it wasn’t going well. A few chairs sat against the landing wall - Mary sat down in one awkwardly, feeling like she was waiting at the doctor’s office. A gilded mirror hung from one of the walls, bringing back flashes of her Embrace. Mary squeezed her eyes shut and tried to make out the words of the argument beyond.

The voices intermingled - Jeanette’s high pitched and airy, Therese’s deep and commanding. They wove together even as insults were thrown back and forth - at times it was difficult to tell who was who, but eventually Jeanette’s became more and more distressed before the walls shook with a slamming door. The landing’s sole door opened, and a woman in a clean business suit and an orderly bun looked down upon Mary.

“Ah. You must be the new arrival.” If Mary had to describe Therese in a word, it would have been sharp - her fangs glinted in the light, her glasses were all harsh angles, her suit was perfectly tailored. Maybe she was biased, for Therese looked as if she was smelling something foul the second she set eyes on Mary.

“Yes. I’m Mary.” She stood, moving to offer her hand - but hastily withdrew it on seeing Therese recoil. “Prince LaCroix-”

“I am aware you’re one of Sebastian’s.” Therese said dismissively. “Come in. I’m sure you have business to discuss.”

Mary followed Therese inside, but only made it four steps through the door before Therese held her hand up.

“Close the door behind you and stay there, please.”

She narrowed her eyes but did as she was told.

“I know why you’re here.” Therese began once the door was shut. “Pleasantries and Traditions aside. Does Sebastian mean to insult me by sending a Nosferatu to plead his case?”

It was a lot of information all at once, and Mary’s brain didn’t know what to focus on first - the obvious insult, or the implication that LaCroix and Therese were on strained terms. “I… I’m sorry if I offend you, ma’am.” The route of politeness might not have been the one Mary wanted to take - the same part of her mind that was tempted to slaughter the college kids was now telling her to rip out Therese’s throat to give her something to be really insulted by - but she wasn’t intent on dying her first night out.

Therese clicked her tongue. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done - you didn’t ask for the job, did you? Tell him my answer hasn’t changed. I’m not going to help him until he helps me. Unless…” A perfectly groomed brow raised. “... are you the help he sent?”

Mary was torn. LaCroix only told her to speak to Mercurio, who told her to speak to Therese - what she was supposed to do beyond being passed along was a mystery to her. “I guess I am. I was told to tell you I was here.”

Therese clapped her hands together. “Good enough. There’s a serial killer in Santa Monica. No, not the one who strung that man up by the pier - I don’t bother with mortal business. We have a Ghoul Killer on our hands.”

An image of Knox’s smiling face came to Mary’s mind. Her expression went blank.

The silence was appreciated by Therese - she made a small hum of satisfaction before continuing. “You’re a listener. Good. At least you’re not a Toreador, I can never get them to shut up. Yes, you heard correctly. Someone has been making a point of killing ghouls, and only ghouls. They must be using supernatural means, of course, there’s no way to tell ghouls apart from humans without them.”

“Why?” Mary asked, trying to keep her tone as gentle as possible. Therese didn’t seem the type to suffer the ignorant or the assertive.

“Sabotaging my efforts, I presume. They’re brave enough to have attacked the blood bank - they nearly killed my ghoul and took the vessel he had providing ichor.” Mary recalled the sign in the alley and made a note to check in. “I’d suspect Jeanette and that pet rat of hers, but they suffer just as much from this loss as I do. Let the rat think I suspect him - it’s better than dealing with his idiocy while trying to discover this killer.”

Pet rat. Bertie? Knox’s master? Mary tried not to look like she was puzzling out the politics. “Do you have any leads?”

“Bertram’s put his ghoul on the case. Idiot. Sending a ghoul to hunt the very thing preying upon him. I doubt he’s found anything, but he used to be a bounty hunter. He’s a boy with golden eyes - you shouldn’t have too much issue finding him if he’s not already dead. He gravitates toward Kindred - as do all ghouls, desperate to leech from our power.” She looked over the rim of her glasses in a distinctly menacing way. “If I don’t see results and Sebastian refuses to do anything more I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

Mary didn’t like the idea of Therese taking things into her own hands. “I’ll track him down. Uh, ma’am, if I can ask you a question.”

“I’ve given you all the pertinent information. I know you’re a fledgling, but you should have enough to work with.” Therese sighed. “Fine.” She held up a finger. “One question.”

“Why do you hate Bertram so much?”

“He’s a bad influence on my sister and is fond of ruining my plans.” Therese responded, casting a glare at a large bed in the corner. The sheets were red silk, and on the floor beneath the bed Mary could spot a few toys out of an adult store. If she could still blush, she would have. Across it was a shut door - probably where Jeanette was hiding. Therese continued, bringing her attention back. “He’s also Nosferatu, so he’s spying on me. It’s what you people do.”

Oh. That would explain the thrill she got from eavesdropping - a trait passed down through generations. Or was it simply her doing what her natural talents led her toward? It wasn’t as if there were many other options looking the way she did.

“You’re dismissed. Talk to the bartender once you’ve found something, he’ll buzz you up.”

Therese walked to her desk and started typing something into her computer, ignoring Mary completely. There was nothing left to do but shuffle backward and slip back downstairs.

Knox was waiting for her by the door, apparently unwilling to risk her leaving without him. He beamed again at her approach. “Man, I can’t get over those spikes! They’re wicked! How’d it go, girl?”

“She didn’t want to stand within six feet of me and told me you’re an idiot, your boss is an idiot, and that I insulted her by being there. Then she told me to track down someone who’s been killing ghouls and that your boss told you to do the same.”

“So that’s why she won’t see me.” Knox’s shoulders drooped. “I wanted to show her what I found myself, so that maybe she’d be less mad at my master and Jeanette would be happy again. I’m not an idiot! I saw an attack - I couldn’t save the poor guy, but the attacker dropped this.” He handed her a driver’s license. “It’s not the killer.” he added, sounding as if it was obvious. “Could be another victim, I dunno.”

Mary tucked the driver’s license into her wallet - the owner was a portly man with a giant beard. “Who’s ghoul was the victim?”

Knox shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re everywhere. There’s not really any rules stopping people from making us as long as we don’t break the Masquerade, so it gets really hard to keep track. I just hang out with my master.”

“Well you better hang out here.” Mary said sternly. “Stay where it’s safe. You can go out in the day, right? Just do that. I don’t want you getting killed.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine! I got good eyes.”

For some reason she felt oddly protective over the boy - he probably wasn’t much younger than she was, yet they felt a world apart. “See you later.”

Leaving the club was easier than getting in - as long as she made mumbled excuses of _it’s a halloween costume_ people didn’t get scared enough to call the cops. Anywhere beyond Asylum and the story would be a hard sell - walking the street in a costume two weeks before Halloween was an unlikely cover at best.

Mary was walking back through the alley when she caught sight of a lone figure - she could hear his zipper open from where she stood. A man was pissing against the wall in a dark corner of the alley, out of sight - trying to avoid getting arrested for public intoxication, probably. Unfortunately for him, Mary was feeling peckish.

It was odd, how confidence surged through her when she approached a victim. Each movement felt natural, like a panther stalking its prey - her limbs moving with powerful grace, teeth latching onto his neck. As she drank the dark voice in her mind grew quieter and quieter before falling silent - the warm heat of the man’s blood infusing her body with life. Mary withdrew once she was sated, licked the wound, and was on her merry way while the man stood dazed, jeans half zipped up.

The shadows were pulled around her with more ease than before, her next stop Mercurio’s. Mary scurried across the street to the condos next to her apartment, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a crimson stain on the concrete landing by the door. There was blood all over the knob, too - a man passing by on the sidewalk glanced at the display and quickly hurried his pace.

The drop in her stomach was unrelated to her invisibility fading. Quickly she opened the latch, her finger slipping in the blood - for a brief moment she worried about fingerprints, then realized there was no way in hell any detective was going to find out who she was.

Inside was a contrast of extremes - the floor was marble, the doors to each apartment large and elegant, carved out of dark wood. Gore splattered across the marble, crimson against white - Mary could make out a few teeth, a strip of skin, a donut-hole sized chunk of flesh that put her off of donut holes - not that she could eat them anymore.

Sure enough, apartment number four - Mercurio’s - was where the horror show led. Mary found the door unlocked, and bit her lip as she opened it. She braced herself for what lay within.

The door opened to a living room - Mary didn’t have to look far to find who she was looking for, as on the couch lay a man battered to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. His face was red and swollen, and his clothes were soaked in blood. It made her nauseous and thirsty at the same time - she was glad she fed before coming in.

“Mercurio?” she asked quietly, approaching the man.

Through a swollen eye he looked at her and jolted in fright, quickly followed by a groan of agony. “Yeah.”

Mary knelt at his side, trying to recall any medical knowledge she may have once had. Whatever she was in her past life, she wasn’t a doctor - or her memory didn’t want to cooperate. Nevertheless, she stood and opened the doors flanking the living room. One led to a kitchenette, the other to a bedroom and adjoining bathroom. Deciding he wasn’t in much of a position to argue, she raided his medicine cabinet and returned with a damp cloth, rubbing alcohol, and gauze.

“Gonna take more… than that… to fix me. Astrolite’s… in the closet.” Mercurio choked out, even as Mary wiped the blood from his face. When she disinfected his wounds he hissed.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Mary asked, though given that he hadn’t done so himself she figured there was a good reason.

“We don’t… get them. Cops. Unh…” His eyelids fluttered, and Mary was filled with panic.

“H-hey! Hold on!”

“Vamp blood’ll... fix me up...” Mercurio said, trying to wave her away - she saw a bone sticking through his forearm and wondered how he was even conscious. “Just hurts like… a mother. Small price for living forever.”

“What happened?”

“Fucking… ghoul killer, I think, came out of nowhere, I just left the beach. Listen to me…”

Mary paused in her attempts to clean him up and leaned forward.

“You gotta… blow up a warehouse. Sabbat warehouse. Use the Astrolite. Don’t know… where it is, but Bertram Tung does. You Nosferatu…” Mercurio wheezed, his body seizing in agony. “Tell the Prince… I did my job.”

He was in pain and refused all other help. The sight distressed her - she’d seen violence before, but not like this - and Mercurio’s insistence on getting the job done only made her more intent on helping him. The man’s loyalty reminded her of Knox, and tugged at her heart strings. She wondered if they were bonded to her masters the way she’d been to Casimir - if they even had a choice in their loyalty.

She didn’t want them taken advantage of.

There was a medical clinic across the road. A light went off in her head.

“I’m going to get you some painkillers, okay? Don’t die on me. I’ll be fast.”

Mercurio groaned something that sounded like _thank you_.

Mary was familiar enough with the little street by now to flit back over to the alley without tapping into her latent power. The Blood Bank door was open, and she thanked her lucky stars - time was of the essence and she didn’t have any lockpicking tools on her. Another entry in her to-do list.

The door swung open into a stairwell, though the way down was blocked by caution tape. Apparently the attack on the blood bank was enough to attract police attention - or Therese knew how to keep people out.

Figuring out where to go would boil down to guesswork. Mary pulled open the first door she could see, exiting the stairwell into a hallway in the clinic proper. Immediately the smell of blood and disinfectant flooded her nostrils, along with the salty tang of saline. It made her dizzy, but she stayed focused.

If she was a bottle of morphine, where would she be? She’d have to pick up a needle, too-

“Oh god, can… can someone call my grandma?” A weak voice pleaded from an open door down the hall, followed by weeping. The scent of blood coiled out from it and Mary found herself drawn in, her footsteps silent on the linoleum floor. There were no nurses rushing about, no medical staff in the halls. It was eerily barren. What sort of place was this?

Inside the door was a patient room - on the bed lay a red-haired young woman with glass shards riddling her chest and gut. Blood was pouring out of her - a nurse had set her up with an IV drip, but there was no blood for her. Mary wondered if the attack had anything to do with it - and wondered how many people died so that her kind wouldn’t go hungry. She recalled the taste of the blood pack she had earlier in the night and felt nauseous.

“P-please...” The woman whimpered. She didn’t seem to notice Mary’s entrance - her pain was too intense. Mary recalled blinding pain of her own, and felt a surge of sympathy. “Someone get a doctor…”

There were bottles of morphine on the counter - exactly what she’d come for. She looked at the young woman, pained herself - she couldn’t get a doctor, she wasn’t supposed to be there and she looked like a horror show. Triage had decided the girl was to die, and so she would.

Mary scooped the morphine bottles into her pocket, grabbed a needle, and took a step to leave. The girl was still weeping.

The young woman didn’t have to die.

She approached the girl’s bedside. Mary noted a little golden heart locket around her neck, something you’d give a child. The woman was still crying, though she’d stopped vocalizing, only reedy gasps escaping her throat.

Mary placed her thumb to her wrist and sliced it open with her claw. She brought it to the woman’s lips and thought of Knox’s words - _nasty dude’s wrist._

What was she doing?

If she was having second thoughts, it was too late - once the first few drops passed the woman’s lips she seemed to regain her strength enough to grasp Mary’s forearm and pull it closer toward her. She kept drinking until Mary’s head started to go fuzzy - at last Mary pulled her arm away.

The woman blinked, her eyes large and blue. Mary was still dealing with the aftereffects of having her _own_ blood consumed when the woman let forth an ear splitting cry.

“SECURITY!”

Mary nearly tripped over herself running out of the room. Her mind raced, struggling to remember the way back - but she managed, putting the smell of blood and disinfectant behind her when she slammed the stairwell door.

She leaned against the brick of the clinic wall, composing herself. Her wrist was still bleeding - experimentally she licked it, and found her tongue healed the wound as it did those she fed upon.

It was raining again.

Part of her felt hurt - she’d saved the woman’s life and been screamed at like a monster for it, but what did she expect? This was life now. She couldn’t be so sloppy in the future - she didn’t even know if what she did was a crime.

Mary patted her pockets, making sure the morphine was still there. Mercurio was still in trouble. Two good deeds in one night wasn’t so bad - and at least Mercurio wasn’t likely to scream at the sight of her.

The rain was washing away the blood at Mercurio’s doorstep - she watched it float down the gutter as she approached. If only the same could be done for the interior. To her relief, Mercurio was still alive when she found him, wheezing and cursing under his breath.

“You’re going to have to tell me how to do this.” Mary murmured, kneeling at his side and fussing with the bottle.

Mercurio extended his broken arm, a large vein visible on his forearm. “There you go.” he said through grit teeth. “Give me 0.3.”

Mary uncapped the needle and twisted open the bottle, peering at the measurements. “Should I disin-”

The look Mercurio levelled at her was answer enough.

“Okay. Hurry, hurry.”

It was difficult - her hands were still shaking from the incident at the clinic, and her claws made maneuvering difficult, but somehow she did it. Needle pierced flesh, blood flooding back into the clear liquid within the needle. Mary pressed down on the stopper, and within moments Mercurio moaned in relief.

“Holy shit.” he gasped.

“Yeah.” Mary replied, looking at the bloodbath surrounding them. She could hear distant sirens, and wondered if they were coming for the clinic. “Rest. I’m going to clean this place up. If anyone sees this-”

“- I’m fucked.” Mercurio finished. “Look - I’ve got contacts, ways of getting you what you want. If you…” The morphine was making him slur.

“Not doing this for a goody bag.” Mary replied, hunting for a mop. “I’m going to clean up, and then I’m going to stay here until it’s close to sunrise to make sure whoever did this doesn’t come to finish the job. If you don’t feel safe during the day, come to my haven. Just uh. Don’t let the sun in.”

“You’re a weird fucking vampire, you know that?” Mercurio peered at her, puzzled, while she started the long and arduous process of mopping the floor. She was glad the place didn’t have carpet.

“Guess you could say I have a soft spot for ghouls.” she muttered.

It took hours, but eventually Mary had the entrance clean. Her efficiency wasn’t helped by having to take breaks to administer more morphine for Mercurio, but to her wonderment she found that each return to him revealed more healed flesh. Just like with Knox, Mercurio’s injuries were knitting themselves back together on their own.

Living forever, at the cost of their will.

When at last light started to seep into the night sky and Mercurio slumbered peacefully, Mary slipped out and headed home. It helped to think of the shitty little apartment that way - a nice escape from the world. The sight of her battered mattress - and the sound of Deb signing off for the night - were much needed comforts after the mess her night had turned into.

Somehow she made it. One night as a vampire, in the world beyond the veil.

She fell asleep in the shower, trying to wash all of the blood off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta lay out the set up before the feels kick in, but we do get Knox being a treasure in the meantime so I think it's a fair trade. ;)


	4. Santa Monica II

The shower was still on, and blasted away any remnants of sleep from Mary with its jet of cold water. 

Spluttering she reached up to turn off the tap - there were imprints of the tile floor on her ass and thighs from sitting against it for so long. Absently she wondered what the water bill was going to look like - and supposed it was LaCroix’s problem.

Falling asleep in the shower was another new experience to add to the list. By now, the start of her nightly ritual was somewhat familiar, though after the events in the medical clinic she decided she’d skip drinking from a blood bag. Mary towelled off and changed into some clean clothes she found in the bathroom hamper. When she pulled on a t-shirt the sleeve ripped, her shoulder spikes poking through plain as day.

Briar Mary, indeed.

Mary tried to order her night’s tasks in her mind. Blood, checking on Mercurio… and the strange meeting that Creep had invited her to the previous night. Mary checked her email just to make sure something big hadn’t happened while she slumbered - a habit carried over from life - and with no new messages she headed outside.

Hopefully her second night wouldn’t be as stressful as the first.

It was raining again. 

Feeding came easy - she caught a lot supervisor writing out tickets in the parking lot behind Mercurio’s and felt a little surge of payback when her teeth sank into his neck. Ignoring the Beast was becoming easier with her belly full - or whatever part of her happened to store all the blood she’d imbibed. Mary tried not to think too hard about it. It was strange, how quickly she’d adapted - but she had no choice. It was that or die.

Mercurio’s place was as clean as she left it, no crime scene tape and no signs of any additional violence. His apartment door was locked - Mary rapped against it with her bony knuckles and glanced nervously back at the entrance. She’d make a frightening sight for the neighbors.

Thankfully, Mercurio answered the door quickly enough. He’d bandaged his particularly grievous head wound and had a face discolored by bruises, but otherwise he was remarkably put together. He even offered her a smile.

“The weird one. Mary, right? Sorry about last night’s introduction. That wasn’t the first impression I wanted to make.”

He held the door open for her to step in and closed it neatly behind her. The TV was on, the evening news talking about unprecedented levels of rainfall. It looked like Mercurio hadn’t moved much from the couch - the bottles of morphine Mary had retrieved for him still sat on the coffee table, next to a half-eaten box of pizza, a coffee cup, and several empty water bottles.

“Sorry about the mess.” Mercurio said sheepishly, limping his way back to the couch. “Still hurts to move.”

“Better than it was last night.” Mary returned with a smile of her own - unlike Knox, Mercurio didn’t seem to know what to think of it. At least he didn’t wear open disgust. “You look a lot better.”

“Feel like shit.” He picked up a thawing bag of frozen peas and pressed it to his swollen cheek. “Going to be out of commission for a few days. You didn’t tell LaCroix what happened, did you?”

“Wouldn’t know how to even if I wanted to.” Mary shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like something I should stick in an email. Besides, it doesn’t sound like it was your fault.”

Mercurio raised a brow, but let her continue.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you’re a ghoul. I did what you said and talked to Therese. She says there’s someone who’s been attacking and killing you guys off. Is that what happened?”

The memory seemed to be an unwelcome one to Mercurio, judging by the full body wince. “I didn’t even see them coming. I was walking back from the beach - I’d gotten the Astrolite from my contact - and got jumped in the parking garage. Don’t get me wrong, I know how to scrap, grew up on the east coast, but this thing… it was like trying to fight smoke. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for someone else coming into the garage, I think they spooked the guy. Didn’t get his face.” He scowled. “That’s not what’s important, though - you’re here for the warehouse. LaCroix really wants this place gone - _really, really_ wants it gone. We don’t know where it is, but-”

“Bertram Tung might.” Mary finished for him. “Yeah, you told me. Except Bertram’s hiding because he thinks Therese wants him dead - and honestly, I don’t think he’s totally wrong.”

“Probably doing the protective big sister thing.” he shook his head. “I shouldn’t say this around you, but… Tung and Jeanette have a… understanding. LaCroix says you types don’t really do the whole…”

Mary stared, stunned at his sudden hesitance. “You afraid you’ll offend my delicate sensibilities?” she asked incredulously.

A snort. “Okay, fine. They’re seeing each other. Sleeping together. From what I’ve heard, it’s pretty taboo - your kind don’t, or… can’t do that kind of thing. Something about the blood taints the whole relationship, I don’t know. I’m just saying I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s why Therese is so upset, it makes for nasty rumors. Tung being Nosferatu doesn’t help.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that part.” The idea of Jeanette - beautiful, alabaster, ethereal Jeanette - consorting with someone of Mary’s caliber of appearance was both frightening and heartwarming. Mary questioned her sanity - then wondered if, like Knox, Jeanette simply saw beyond outward appearance - however monstrous it was. “Either way Therese won’t do shit until this whole ghoul killer thing is dealt with, so it’s my problem whether or not it pisses LaCroix off.”

Mercurio blanched. “I wouldn’t say that so lightly, kid. LaCroix might look like a twenty year old with dad’s money, but he’s been around since Napoleon and has got connections I can’t even imagine. Don’t let appearances deceive you. Even I’m damn near sixty. Careful with the word choice.”

Well, that explained his hesitancy to talk about carnal matters around her. Mercurio was _old fashioned_. Mary narrowed her eyes. More than that, he was scared - more scared of failing LaCroix than he was of dying out on the streets. “Makes you older than me. Either way - I’ve got to get answers. You don’t remember anything else?”

“Just the beach. There were thin-bloods hanging around when I was there, they might still be hanging around.”

Another new term. “Thin bloods?”

Mercurio settled deeper into the couch. “Right, you’re new. They’re like… failed vampires. Way I understand it, they got the turning business but it didn’t take so well. Can’t eat, can’t go out in the day, they need blood - but they don’t belong to any of your clans and can’t use most of your powers. There weren’t that many of them, back when I was starting out, but it seems like the population exploded. The Prince says it’s why you types need population control and permission to turn anyone.”

Mary glanced over at the TV for a moment, watching the newscasters talk about Halloween preparations on the pier. The image of the ferris wheel silhouetted against the sunset made what was left of her heart ache. “Why? Are they hurting anyone?”

“Not exactly.” Mercurio reached over for a bottle of over the counter painkillers and shook a couple out into his palm. “I don’t really know why, people don’t like them. There’s some reason for it - maybe someone a few hundred years ago figured out what was going on and it’s common knowledge now. Not something I need to know and it’s never come up.”

“Hrm.” Mysteries on mysteries. Mary wondered how much more common knowledge had passed her by, thanks to Casimir’s demise. “I guess I’ll have to ask them. Uh, one more question.”

Mercurio washed the painkillers down with a swig from a half-empty water bottle. “Shoot.”

“Blood packs. Is it okay if I just throw them in the garbage? And with the Blood Bank the way it is, where do I get more if I need them?”

That got a proper laugh out of Mercurio - it was rasping, and he winced quickly enough. “Ah shit, that stings. No, no one’s going to care if they find a bunch of empty bags in your garbage. Waste management guys don’t get paid enough to give a shit - just don’t throw body parts in there and you’re fine. As for the bank - it’s still open, but supply’s low. Be ready to pay through the nose. Santa Monica’s a dead scene, I don’t know why Therese is trying so hard to hold onto it.”

“Maybe she likes the beach.” Mary murmured. It looked like that was her next destination. “Well, thanks. I appreciate the help. And you trying not to throw up when you look at me.”

“I like to help the ones fresh off the bus.” Mercurio smiled back - Mary wondered if he was handsome underneath all the swelling. His smile was nice, at least. “Besides, you’ve been a good kid. If you don’t tell LaCroix and I get to live despite this whole mess, look me up if you ever need some heavy weapons. I got connections for guns and explosives. I know you said you didn’t do this for a goodie bag - don’t worry, you still have to pay.”

“I don’t even know how much a gun costs.” Mary admitted, walking back to the door. “Hey, can you pick me up a flip phone or something? That way you can call me if anything comes up and I can make sure you’re safe.”

“LaCroix’s got me working on it. The usual people we contract that out to aren’t answering their own phones.” Mercurio’s expression softened. “You stay safe out there too.”

Mary had her hand on the latch, but one last thought interrupted her mid-turn. “... Mercurio. You’re LaCroix’s ghoul, right?”

He swallowed, grip on the arm of his couch tightening just a fraction. Nervous. “Yeah. Thought that was obvious.”

“So you know about the important people in LA?”

She was causing him stress, that much was clear. He looked as if he was bracing himself. “I guess you could say so.”

It was good enough for her. “What do you know about Nines Rodriguez?”

Mercurio’s eyes widened - at least, as much as they could given the swelling. “Nines? He’s the leader of the Anarchs - or the closest thing to, after MacNeil skipped town. MacNeil used to be the Anarch figurehead - from what I understand they used to run this part of the country until the millennium turned - so I guess Nines got left holding the bag. Some people are hoping for a comeback, but Los Angeles was the last city they held on this coast. From what I’ve heard, Nines has charisma and is nice to the little guy and it’s been good for his numbers. Not what you want from the guy on the other team.” 

Mary contemplated his words, still frozen with her hand on the door. Other team. Did that mean she was part of the Camarilla? 

The pause dragged on, and Mercurio relaxed, reassured that he hadn’t offended her enough to provoke her to violence. “I hope you don’t mind, but… why do you ask?”

“I think he might be the reason I’m alive right now.” Mary replied, looking up from the floor. “And I remember him. From before. Is that bad?”

“From before? You mean…” he tilted his head, looking as if he was trying to imagine her human. “I don’t know. I’ll give you a free bit of advice for not ratting me out, though - I wouldn’t tell LaCroix about it.”

A grim chuckle. “Yeah. I get the feeling they’re not friends.” Mary offered him one last toothy grin before opening the door, a current of anxiety running down her spine. She was caught between two forces, it seemed. It made her next words come out in a rush - she was itching to get back outside. “Thanks again, Mercurio. I’ll be back for the Astrolite once all this shit’s sorted. Bye!”

Mary set aside her anxiety the best that she could - her worries wouldn’t come to anything if she didn’t succeed in Santa Monica. It was most important she do the work she was told in the moment. Getting caught up in political machinations could wait for later.

All paths were leading her toward the pier, but first Mary was intent on talking to Knox again. If he had any information on the warehouse’s whereabouts it could save her ass if the ghoul killer proved impossible to catch. While she didn’t like the idea of either Knox or Mercurio being in danger, she was just one fledgling. Part of her wondered if LaCroix had set her up to fail.

If he had, he was going to be disappointed. Mary hadn’t gone through fucking spines growing out of her shoulder just to be ashed.

Unfortunately for her plans, Knox was nowhere to be seen - not that she had many places she knew to look. Asylum had no trace of his golden eyes or his smile, and a quick lap around the block proved fruitless. The longer she stayed above ground the more she was pushing her luck - and the more blood she was spending trying to stay hidden.

Anxiety was starting to crawl up her throat. Knox was the friendliest person she’d met - something about him made Mary think that perhaps her new life could be bearable, even _fun_. If he’d gotten himself killed she didn’t know what she was going to do with herself.

All she could do was keep moving. Mary crept to the nearest manhole cover and lifted it, finding that the darkness below soothed her fears. Something about the underground felt safe, and when she pulled the cover closed above her it was like she’d sealed herself away from all evil. 

The sewer map was more straightforward than she thought - all paths west led to the sea. Mary made note of the pipe exiting close to the pier, counting turns and praying she wouldn’t get lost. Just as she’d felt the instinct to pull the shadows around her, so too did she know where to go and where she’d been, her steps through the tunnels etching a map in her mind. Mary ran with the rats and followed the faint hint of a breeze, the scent of clean air. Sometimes water would pour down from pipes in the tunnel walls - she’d jump over them when they crossed her path and tried not to think about what was _in_ the water.

After what must have been an hour the cement beneath her feet started to slope downward. The tunnel narrowed until it was just large enough for her to crouch through. Such tight quarters would have ignited panic in her, but she could hear the sound of waves crashing echoing down the pipe. Soon the air grew cooler, and after a turn a constellation of colored lights awaited her at the end of the pipe. Santa Monica Pier.

The pipe exited onto a rocky shore, stained by years of filth. Mary hopped down onto the cleanest looking boulder and hurried onto an untouched part of shore as quickly as she could. Seagulls circled overhead and crabs scuttled along the sand in front of her leaving little tracks in their wake. Mary paused halfway to the pier and just looked out at the sea, stretching on forever. The only thing marring the glassy expanse was a boat on the horizon, all lit up and twinkling. Mary knelt to press her hands into the wet sand and was tempted to take her boots off, to run and look back at her footprints before the waves wiped them away. 

The sea was different in her new state, and new possibilities rose to her mind as she considered it. Mary didn’t have to breathe anymore - could she just walk in and keep going, down to where the sun’s light couldn’t reach? Could she wall all the way across the ocean? Or were there secrets of her new world in the ocean too, things no human could ever be allowed to see? Maybe she’d give it a try if she screwed up and LaCroix wanted her head. She always wanted to see Europe.

Back in the open air her anxiety returned. Mercurio had been attacked along the beach, and Knox was missing. Mary tried to mimic Jack and sniffed as she made her way toward the pier, as if she could catch the mysterious killer in the act. Fortunately - or unfortunately, perhaps - she saw and smelled nothing by the time she came to the pier’s foundational supports.

There was a fire in the distance, however - on the other side of the pier next to what Mary guessed were stairs up to the boardwalk. Figures stood around it, obviously not tourists or beachgoers. Between the rain and the darkness, no one in their right mind would be lingering by the beach unless they had to. 

Like Mary.

Carefully she approached them, trying to keep most of her body in the shadows. If they were the people Mercurio was talking about seeing her wouldn’t be an issue, but if they were just a few teenagers trying to find somewhere to drink she didn’t want to have to kill them to cover her tracks. A boombox sat on a milk crate underneath a beach umbrella, chiming guitar notes coming out of the speakers. Weird place for a party.

Mary peered at the group and tried to figure out just what exactly they were. When she moved her gaze to the sole woman among them Mary found herself making eye contact, the woman’s warm dark eyes locked to Mary’s milky white ones. The woman showed no fear, and approached Mary’s position in the darkness.

“You came under the Red Star.” The woman murmured, shifting her attention to some point above Mary. “The clergyman seeks you, but he’ll speak only lies.”

Jack had told her of vampires who were gifted visions, at the cost of their ability to articulate them. The woman was Kindred, that was certain as the flash of her fangs, but there was a pinkness to her cheeks that set her apart from any other Mary had met.

“Hi.” Mary began, figuring it was best to be honest. “I’m Mary. A friend of mine was assaulted around here - have you seen anything weird?”

“Rosa.” The dark eyed woman returned. Mary’s appearance certainly unsettled her, judging by the tension in her arms and shoulders. “A man came, went up the stairs to the cliffs, then left.” A gesture at the stone archway in the cliff wall. “E will know more.”

Mary followed Rosa’s gaze to a shirtless man sitting in the sand, his knees drawn up to his chest.

“A flower in flame.” Rosa added quietly. “It will give faith to the one you seek. You will know his hand.”

“Excuse me?”

Rosa shook her head. “Forget what I say - it’s nothing.”

Mary swallowed her curiosity, taking Rosa’s word for it. She didn’t have time to see if clairvoyants were a thing - given that vampires were, she wouldn’t be surprised. “Well. That’s weird. I’ll go ask E what’s up.”

Walking into the light brought mixed results from the other two men standing on the beach - one with a mohawk recoiled, and another with dark hair froze on the spot, as if she could only see movement. One thing was clear to her - she could certainly smell fear, and the two reeked of it.

E, however, was a solitary figure that only radiated melancholy. He didn’t seem bothered by being so far from the heat, nor from the droplets of water coursing down his shoulders and back. His hair was shaggy, half tucked behind his ears. A shell necklace was clasped at the base of his neck. A surfer, by the looks of it, though he looked far from the laid back stereotype.

Mary approached him and took a seat next to him in the sand. He didn’t look away from the sea until she spoke up.

“Hi.”

In a way Mary was getting familiar with, E flinched the second he set eyes on her. He sat paralyzed for a moment, waiting for a blow that never came - and when he was certain Mary was not, in fact, there to gut him his posture returned to his previous exhausted slump.

“I’ve told you types before, we don’t know where to go. Everywhere is someone’s territory. We’ve got nowhere left to go, we stick to the beach and aren’t hurting anyone. We’ll leave if someone actually gives us a straight answer.” E spoke in an Australian accent, and it caught Mary off guard. He was a long way from home.

“I’m not here to kick you out, I’m pretty green.” Mary replied, trying to hide her teeth behind her lips. “A friend of mine was attacked near here last night - Rosa said you were the one to talk to about anything weird.”

E frowned. “Plenty of weird things going on, but I guess you don’t care about half of them. A guy in a suit went up last night, came back down looking spooked. I saw a man in black - a different guy - up ‘round the cliffs about an hour after. I think there was blood on his hands. He smelled like it.” He gestured at the rock face a set of rickety metal stairs were drilled into. “Only weird thing I remember happening last night.” E hunched his shoulders, as if he could protect himself from her.

“You’d be surprised what I care about.” Mary replied, getting a sense that these people were the thin-bloods Mercurio was talking about. They all looked tired and drawn - she wondered when the last time they fed was. E was the first person she was actually able to get a straight answer out of, no favors required, and for that she couldn’t help but be invested in what was “Thanks for the info. Maybe I’m stepping over boundaries here, but you look pretty bummed out.”

E glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, looking surprised more than anything. He heaved a sigh, gaze snapping back to the sea. She couldn’t blame him for being unable to look for too long. “There’s usually five of us.”

Mary’s shoulders drooped. “What happened?”

“Her name is Lily.” E breathed, his voice nearly snatched away by the ocean wind. “Whoever turned her into… whatever we are abandoned her. I was here for a surf competition, and saw her in the diner one night. She was alone, and I didn’t know where I was going in life. When we met it was…” He trailed off, glaring at the crashing waves. With every word his voice grew stronger, as if he’d been granted permission to feel at last. “... everything settled into place. She tried to tell me what she was. I didn’t understand, so she turned me. Now she’s gone.”

“I lost my sire too.” Mary replied - it was an oddly specific sort of pain, as if someone had pulled a rug from under her and sent her sprawling to the floor, bloodied and bruised. “I’m sorry.”

E pressed his lips tightly together, his entire body tensing as if he was trying to hold something within him. “We were all going hungry - the others came from different cities, and said that hunting too much got them run out of town. Santa Monica’s no different. Lily said she was going to try to break into the blood bank to get us something to eat, and she never came back. Julius tried going in and didn’t see anything. I went in and didn’t see anything.” It looked like a weight had been taken off of his shoulders, melancholy cut down as if all he had to do was breathe it out. “Maybe she ran. I… I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess I just want one other person in the world to know.”

The blood bank. Therese had mentioned an attack, a stolen vessel - could it have been Lily? “I don’t think she ran.” Mary ventured - Casimir had treated her with kindness, perhaps all sires held such love for those they’d Embraced. 

“I hope you’re right.” E rested his chin on his knees. “I’d still love her even if she did. We’re a bad horror show.”

It made Mary’s chest feel oddly tight, a wrenching feeling in her atrophied gut. “Well, hey. I’ll keep my ears open.” In an attempt at levity, she wiggled them - bat-like as they were. It got a smile out of E. “If I hear anything about Lily, I’ll let you know. You guys going to be hanging around here for a while?”

“Yeah, unless we get run off.”

“Well, if you do - there’s a bunch of apartments above the pawn shop, across the street from the medical clinic behind the Asylum. Put some contact info in mailbox four and I’ll give you a ring in case you guys gotta jet.”

E narrowed his eyes, looking at her with some suspicion. “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you, I lost my sire too.” Mary replied. She was beginning to understand why Nines had stood up for her, if Jack’s story was true. It was almost a compulsion to help E out just by virtue of how alone in the world he now seemed. Let alone the circumstances E and the others found themselves in, run out of cities and pushed to the sea. “Besides. It makes me feel better about the whole…” she flapped a clawed hand, trying to articulate her thoughts in movement. “... just because I look like a monster doesn’t mean I have to act like one, you know?”

There was a long pause. “Maybe.” E finally shrugged. He fell silent again, staring back out at the sea, and Mary got the hint that it was time to leave.

Her next course of action was one that had her of two minds. The invitation Creep had given her was for the pier that night, but E and Rosa’s information about Mercurio’s attacker pointed at the cliffside. By all logic it should have been her priority - LaCroix would certainly expect it of her - yet the pier offered information about her sire. Information about her purpose in the world, and about the man she’d never know.

Despite her better judgement, when Mary stood the stairs she approached were the wooden ones leading up to the pier. The wood was rain soaked, catching all of the lights of the ferris wheel and neon signs - behind her it was gated off from the main street, chain link criss crossed with crime scene tape. Therese had mentioned a human dying on the pier, and Mary felt a little guilty being thankful for it. It kept the place barren, allowing her to stroll down the pier and take in the sights without fretting about someone seeing her and running screaming. Cheery synthetic jingles came from an arcade as she passed it - Mary let her eyes wander across the machines, some of them sparking familiarity in her memory. If she had time and change she’d try her hand at one of them, but as it was she was wasting enough time as it was already.

Walking down the pier was surreal - the lights and sounds felt nearly magical, but the deserted surroundings and rain made everything feel twisted and wrong. Mary wasn’t supposed to be there, but she couldn’t help but be drawn further downward. For the first time the possibility that the invitation was a trap crossed her mind - but it was too late. 

A figure stood at the end of the pier. It was tall, robed in crimson that seemed to repel the rain. At first she thought it was wearing a hat, but realized to her horror that its skull spanned upward in an elegant webbed construction. She thought of illustrations of dinosaurs and dragons and felt a jolt of fear.

“So you are Casimir’s childe.” The figure spoke - a man’s voice. It was as if someone had drawn a bow across a violin, a slow vibrating tone threading through her at the mention of the name _Casimir_. “I am glad you have come - so many lies you have already been fed.” He stepped into the light, and his features were thrown into relief - elegant but sharp, holding a reptilian sort of beauty - the kind that commanded fear and respect. The man was as inhuman as Mary was, but where she was hideous he was alien. He extended a clawed hand toward her.

Mary approached him but did not take his hand. The man only smiled. “Are you Andrei?”

“I am he.” Andrei replied with a slight inclination of his head. “You received my invitation. Good. Why have you come?”

“I was asked.” 

The answer seemed to displease Andrei. “Are you truly a dog, then? You follow the Prince’s commands simply because they are orders, you come to see me simply because it was asked of you? Is your blood wasted on your mind?”

It raised Mary’s temper, the little voice that murmured in the back of her mind when she was hungry starting its refrain again - _rip out his tongue, see what he has to say about blood then_. Her nostrils flared. “I was told you knew my Sire. I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“You come for knowledge, then.” Now Andrei seemed satisfied, clasping his hands together in front of him. He was analyzing her - where most looked on her with fear, and Knox looked on her with openness, Andrei looked at her as if she was a sculpture or a riddle, as if peering at a specific point of her would grant him answers. He seemed especially taken with the sharp spines growing out of her shoulder. “Ask your questions. I will answer - unlike the Camarilla with their strings I will not take cost from you in return, but know my time is short.”

Mary felt as if one wrong step would have Andrei’s bloodstained claws lacing into her ribcage. “Why did you want to talk to me?”

“I knew Casimir. His blood ran as potently as mine - the two of us were part of the great crusade. The Sword of Caine - the Sabbat. You are his childe, and the Camarilla pulls your strings. They have told you lies, and will tell you more. The Anarchs serve them in their ignorance, and they too have sent a messenger to twist your mind, make you weak.”

Andrei spoke with cold conviction, a tone that belonged in a pulpit, not a pier. His accent was one Mary had never heard in her life, and all she knew was that it sounded old. _Sabbat_ \- Casimir was part of them, the group that Jack had called murderous animals and cowards. Neither descriptor fit what she knew of him. If Andrei told the truth, the two belonged to the organization that owned the warehouse LaCroix wanted her to destroy. 

Mary felt like a torture victim on the rack, each one of her limbs being pulled their separate ways. Camarilla, Sabbat, Anarchs - each held to a part of her for reasons she didn’t know, and one wrong move would have her torn to pieces. Yet Mary knew that information was likely all that was going to keep her alive, a knowledge borne of human experience and instinct in her blood. Andrei was answering her questions. She couldn’t afford to walk away. “I didn’t get to learn much about him. My sire, I mean. What was he like?”

“Casimir was a scholar among us. A keeper of the old lore - each of his childer had a purpose in the great crusade. He was devoted to the destruction of the ancients. He was also a coward.”

If her heart still beat, it would have stopped. Casimir’s sentence had nearly passed to her in the Camarilla - she didn’t know how the Sabbat operated.

“Instead of accepting his final death, he betrayed us to the Camarilla and fled. We hunted him, yet with every turn of the moon we found nothing. He hid from his judgement.” A pause. “Do not fear, childe - his debt has not passed to you. Your birth suggests Casimir yet believed in the ways of truth - you were sired under the Red Star, in these Final Nights. There was meaning in his action.”

It was the third time she heard the Red Star mentioned, even though she could see nothing of the sort in the night sky. “I don’t know what that means.” Truth be told, it was hitting too close to home - the rhetoric seemed almost spiritual, bringing up memories from her past like disturbed dust. From what experience she could drudge up, anyone telling her she was special was usually trying to sell her something.

“A portent only those of power can see. The end is upon us. Our kind must make war against our makers, or face oblivion. The ones you follow call us beasts, but they fear the Sabbat. We know what comes for us in the dark. Grandfathers of grandfathers, the first children of Caine the dark father. They come to devour us all.”

Mary wanted to think he was crazy, but it echoed what Casimir had told her. Maybe Casimir was crazy, too, but both of them spoke with such conviction she almost found herself believing it. “You do what you do to destroy the ancients?”

“We act because it is our right. We are cursed and blessed - we know what we are.” he repeated. “We do not hide from it. We live up to our legacy, embrace the voice that whispers when we hunt. You have heard it, childe, I can see it in your eyes - answer it. Others will tell you to hide. They want to keep you weak, clay in their hands to sculpt as they wish.” Andrei reached out and pressed his thumb to her cheek. It hummed with an almost electrical kind of energy - if Mary still had hair, it’d be standing on end. She wanted to slap it away. “They refuse to touch you, they scorn you because your kind is truth laid bare. You are what they deny - you are what even my hands cannot change, even though I wish to celebrate what it is you are. Cainites despise truth. The Sabbat will blind them with it.”

Andrei was advocating that she kill people, that she break the Masquerade, that she reflect her own monstrous nature. It went against everything she believed, and it filled her with horror to think that it was what Casimir had intended for her. Was she created for such purpose? Was it what she had agreed to?

Casimir had told her to know what she was - but also to remember where she had come from. He’d said he was giving her the freedom to discover it for herself. Andrei had said he was a spy - perhaps he didn’t believe all of what the Sabbat preached.

The world was ending, if they were to be believed, and Mary had no idea what she was supposed to do with what time she had left.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing.” Andrei answered. Mary tried not to let her relief show on her face. “You are unproven, raw clay, unfit for the great work. But I wished to illuminate you. You have been given truth - what you do with it will decide what I want of you.” He looked at her consideringly. “Your sire was aware of what he was, and powerful for it. Perhaps I will teach you in his place, if you prove yourself. The Camarilla would happily dispose of our histories, destroy anything that speaks of the Ancients. They will offer you no aid.”

Mary wasn’t sure if her next question was the best idea, but it left her lips nevertheless. “And if I don’t prove myself?”

“You will die with the rest.” Andrei smiled. “You have ties to us, childe. The Camarilla knows. They will not save you - and the Anarchs will be too weak to. Remember this.”

Before her eyes, Andrei’s form turned into blood and melted away with the rain, flowing down the pier and trickling out of sight. Mary had the distinct impression that Andrei would have answered the same regardless of the questions she asked, and she couldn’t help but feel a great sense of unease.

If she followed LaCroix’s orders, Andrei would be her enemy. If she didn’t, LaCroix would be her enemy. Neither made her decision for her, however. Even Casimir couldn’t stay with the Sabbat. Perhaps allying with Andrei was even worse than having him oppose her - even if he said he was as powerful as her sire was.

Mary had her answers. Her sire had ties to the Sabbat, the Camarilla knew, and both were waiting for her to disappoint them.It brought forth a horrible sense of deja vu. She stumbled to the railing of the pier and leaned over it, the urge to vomit intense. She dry heaved for half a minute, her head aching.

Human life. People had watched her then too, her life a purposeless performance that was never good enough. The life she found herself in now was no different, and the horror of it made her sick. This time failure would cost her more than pain - it’d cost her a head, just as it had her sire. Had she fallen into another cycle, even worse than the first?

She pulled her head back and stared at her clawed hands. Her knuckles were white from gripping the railing so fiercely, but what drew her attention was her claws - and the gouges they’d left in the wood.

Mary had something she lacked when she was alive. If what Andrei had said was true, she had power. Power enough that LaCroix didn’t kill her and Andrei had taken interest in her. The Anarchs too if Andrei was to be believed - she wondered if that was the true reasoning behind Nines’ actions.

The rain continued to pour down, washing over her and drenching her clothes. Slowly her thoughts returned to the present, the cheery lights of the still ferris wheel reminding her of why else she had come.

Knox.

She shook herself and started walking back down the pier, trying to put the previous conversation behind her. Now her focus was forward. The thin-bloods were still congregated around the fire at the beach, though all but Rosa ignored her. Mary said nothing, but Rosa seemed to understand what had just taken place - her face was a sympathetic one, and she dipped her chin in a small nod. Mary wanted to ask more of her, but her curiosity had already netted her negative results that night. 

The metal stairs up the cliff face were rusting and rickety, and Mary wondered if it was possible for her to die by falling from a great height. Jack had mentioned a brick to the face being painful and suppose the same theory applied when it came to falling - in any case, she stepped carefully. Mary found she liked being up so high. Even at only a couple stories above ground she felt oddly safe, as if the problems down below couldn’t touch her. 

It was the closest she’d been to nature for a very long time. Wild grass poked through the dunes, brush finding purchase on rocky bits of outcropping. Some distance inland was a parking garage - likely the one Mercurio had been attacked in - standing guard in front of the city proper. 

Mary scanned the sandy cliffs, looking for anything out of the ordinary. She didn’t really know what she was looking for. Footprints? A wallet? A note detailing the attacker’s identity, plans, and home address? Maybe she’d luck out and get his PIN number too. Or hers. 

There was one thing that she didn’t want to find, and that was a body.

Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Near a thick patch of underbrush was a white glow, and when she turned her head to see it properly she saw a white wolf sitting neatly in front of it. 

Her mind raced, instinct preparing her for an attack. Wolves weren’t endemic to California, were they? Not that this one seemed natural, given that it glowed. As if it could sense her confusion, the wolf cocked its head. She could have sworn its gleaming yellow eyes looked smug.

Frowning Mary started to approach - it was just a wolf, and she’d seen her claws put gouges in wood a bear would have trouble inflicting. Violence was something she’d prefer to avoid, but she had a goal to achieve.

As soon as she started walking towards it, the wolf stood and ran. Mary took a few steps, intent to chase it - but it disappeared over the cliff face before she make any progress in closing the distance. She was ready to dive after it, but an overpowering scent of rot nearly knocked her over. It was coming from the brush - she’d run past it in her pursuit, and now she looked back at it with dread.

The world seemed to move in slow motion, her feet kicking up sand as she walked back to the source of the smell. First the feet came into view - shoeless and discolored, the flesh of the toes eaten away. The pants were stretched - the corpse was bloated, whether from rot or water wasn’t something she had the experience to discern. It was the face she dreaded most - she had to lean over and pull away branches to get a good look.

It was a man, but it wasn’t Knox.

Relief and guilt washed through her. The corpse belonged to no one she knew, but it shouldn’t have been cause for relief. Someone was dead, and someone else was probably missing them.

Mary thought of her barren inbox, and supposed that didn’t apply to everyone.

Tugging the driver’s license Knox had given her out of her pocket, she compared the picture of the man on it to the face of the body. While sun and time had done their damage, it didn’t remove the man’s tattoos - it was a match. Mary was almost hoping it wasn’t, because she really wasn’t looking forward to her next step.

Searching the body was a test of endurance - the smell of rot invaded her nostrils and sinuses and stung her eyes. A shudder ran through her when her hands touched soft and bloated flesh, slipping into pockets stretched tight in search of belongings. Mary had to roll him over to search the back pockets - she prayed nothing would burst. Thankfully, the body remained intact - and better yet, there was a wallet in the back left pocket of his jeans.

She stood and opened it. The wallet was empty, save for the slot holding the driver’s license. In its place was a card for the Los Angeles Library, and smiling up at her was a picture of a golden eyed ghoul.

The vitae in her veins ran cold.

Mary pocketed the wallet and sprinted over to the cliff’s edge, looking over it to see if the wolf had left her a horrible message. All she saw was shining white sand spanning the shore. A lump was forming in her throat - she didn’t know where to go, didn’t know what to do. When she’d searched for Knox before she’d found nothing. If she’d only been a bit faster, perhaps she could have caught the wolf - visiting Andrei was a mistake. She’d wasted time sating her own curiosity, worrying about taking care of her own ignorance. Knox could have been the price she paid.

Who knew Santa Monica? Who would know of anything strange?

Maybe the person who sought to run it. Mary took off running toward the parking garage - and Asylum’s neon signs glimmering in the distance.

The shadows could barely keep up with her as she pulled them along with her, racing through the streets of Santa Monica. Mary was moving quickly, far faster than any human could run, and the thrill that came with it almost took the edge off of her mounting horror. The increased pace also put strain on her reserves of blood - the focus required to keep her cloak around her was immense, and she realized it wasn’t something she could make a habit of.

By the time she reached the Asylum she was exhausted. It was likely the only reason she didn’t tear the door from its hinges in her haste. With single minded purpose she marched up to the bar, ignoring the recoiling and yelps of nearby clientele. The music matched the pounding in her head.

“I need to see Therese.” she spoke to the bartender like a command. He was a large man, a nametag on his shirt reading _Sal_ \- part of her brain sparked in recognition, but Mary drowned any influx of memory. Her current task was too important. “Is she here?”

“Not like that, you’re not. Jeanette’s the one who runs the costume contest. You, uh… you’re scaring the clientele.” Sal replied, looking remarkably less disgusted than he should have been.

“Is Therese here?” Mary repeated - she tried not to snap, but she had no other way of impressing the urgency of her cause. She held eye contact with him for several seconds - he studied her, trying to ascertain if she was going to be an issue. “Call her.” she added. “I’m working for her.”

Sal narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, she’s in. Therese can handle herself, so any funny business and you’ll regret it.”

Mary had turned before he could finish his sentence, shoving her way through the nightclub crowd to get to the elevator. She jammed the call button in quick succession, as if it’d make the blasted contraption go any faster. She did the same for the button to ascend, needing some way to express her nerves. Screaming and throwing something weren’t options.

Therese seemed surprised when Mary threw open the door to her office (and Jeanette’s bedroom). She was staring at a massive painting that hung on the wall, and for a brief moment seemed nearly frightened. Her features were schooled into the cold indifference Mary was familiar with quickly enough. “Have you found my killer?”

“Maybe.” Mary panted. “Where’s Knox?”

A frown. “That’s no concern of yours.”

It was an answer, even if Therese didn’t mean it to be - she knew where Knox was, she just wasn’t willing to tell. Mary tossed the wallet at Therese, who caught it between manicured fingers. “I found a dead body near the scene of the last attack. This was in his pocket.”

Therese looked vaguely disgusted to have a wallet plucked from a corpse, but flipped it open gracefully nevertheless. A elegant brow lifted over the rim of her glasses. “Interesting.”

“Where is he?” Mary repeated, finding her self control slipping. The darkness that lurked within her - the darkness that Andrei encouraged her to set free - was unfurling, ready to strike if only unleashed. 

“He’s running an errand for me.” Therese replied cooly. “He sought audience with me, no doubt hoping to curry favor for his master. I couldn’t decline - ghouls are in short supply, and my plans in this regard have gone poorly enough that even Bertram couldn’t ruin them any further.” 

Mary was getting tired of repeating herself. “ _Where?_ ”

Therese made a show of examining her manicured nails, enjoying the process of making her wait for an answer. 

“The Ocean House Hotel.”


	5. The Ocean House Hotel

A hotel. That was somewhat reassuring at least - hotels meant multiple witnesses, too many people around to make an isolated attack.

“It’s haunted.” Therese continued, and Mary could practically hear her hopes torpedo into the ground. “I sent him to deal with it. Ghosts are harmless. Unfortunately there’s no shortage of cowards in this city.”

That was a new revelation. It was enough to temper her haste. “Ghosts are real?” 

“We share the night with ghosts, werewolves, hunters - mages too, if the Tremere are any indicator. Yes, ghosts are real. But they’re harmless. One just needs a scrap of willpower to overcome them. They’re easy enough to exorcise, if you manage to obtain whatever it is anchoring them to this world.” Therese seemed mildly inconvenienced more than anything. “If you believe Bertram’s ghoul-”

“His name is Knox.” Mary interrupted. “If he’s putting himself in danger for you the least you can do is call him by his name.”

Therese narrowed her eyes. “Bertram’s ghoul.” she repeated. “If you believe he’s a target of whoever’s been killing the local ghoul population, you have my permission to follow him. You can reach the Ocean House through the sewers.”

Mary could swear she saw a glimmer of amusement in Therese’s eyes. She bit back a string of uncharitable remarks that came to mind. “If I don’t come back, call the Ghostbusters.” she muttered instead, the levity the only kind of rebellion she could muster up.

“Yes, yes.” Therese rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. “I’m certain Sebastian will be heartbroken. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a vandalized art gallery to deal with.”

Whatever other pursuits Therese was interested in were none of Mary’s concern. She didn’t bother with the etiquette of goodbyes, figuring her departure was welcome, and soon enough Mary was back out in the open air - if only for a moment. The manhole cover in the alleyway behind the Asylum was becoming a frequent destination of hers.

The sewers were a welcome respite from the rain, at least. Mary scurried along the tunnels much like the rats did, checking the map to make sure she was going the right way. It was hard to miss the Ocean House route - it was the only tunnel that crept uphill. Judging by the map the same tunnel branched off to access the downtown core. It was like a freeway for rats - she supposed she was one of them.

Her nerves carried her onward, though they were tempered with glimmers of optimism. Ghosts were harmless, Knox had investigated the killer on his own without coming to harm so far, the hotel was some distance away - there was no way the killer would go so far out of the way to get to Knox. He’d be safe.  
Mary just had to get there to warn him.

Noises echoed through the tunnels the further away from Santa Monica she got. There must have been others that used the sewers, though she had come across no one in her time in Santa Monica. Maybe they could turn invisible, like her - maybe they didn’t want her to see them. It wasn’t a reassuring thought. She jumped at every noise - the sight of the tunnel’s end and a ladder up to the surface was a welcome sight. The rungs were dirty, and she could see handprints on them that had wiped some of the dirt away - markers of Knox’s presence, she hoped.

Mary exited somewhere she didn’t exactly expect - she’d thought she’d be poking her head up in the middle of a street, or a parking lot. Instead she saw wild grass swaying gently in the wind all around her, and a stately building looming ahead. It seemed she’d popped out into the hotel grounds.

Construction equipment sat around the overgrown landscaping, like a child’s plastic toys on the lawn. Scaffolding covered part of the hotel’s exterior, beyond which Mary could see blackened and burned wood. It looked like there was a renovation job going on.

Mimicking Jack, she sniffed the air. The place smelled of the sea - it overlooked Santa Monica, and the wind blowing the rain clouds in from the ocean carried with them the now-familiar tang of sand and salt. There was a faint undercurrent of drywall and carbon, probably from the hotel, but nothing that she couldn’t discern the origins of. 

There was no sign of Knox. Mary approached the front doors of the hotel - they were elegant mahogany, wrought iron embellishments looping in delicate patterns, the picture of art nouveau. They were inlaid with glass, and she pressed her face against it in an attempt to see what was inside. She could make out the silhouette of a foyer, and a few glimmering lamps - the power was on, at least. No shadows crossed in front of them, so she figured it was safe enough to enter.

Then the glass shattered. Mary leapt back, swearing - a shard had sliced her cheek open. Whirling around, she looked behind her for a culprit. She found only the sea breeze in answer.

Ghosts.

“Just my fucking luck.” she muttered, pulling open the door with prejudice and stepping inside.

Thankfully the foyer was barren. The air was stale - it smelled like old carpet and newspapers. Dust puffed out from the carpet with every step, and coated every surface. Something else hung in the air, too. More a feeling than anything, but it was contagious - an underunning melancholy that settled into her bones. Her surroundings echoed the odd feeling of neglect. Whatever progress had been made with renovations, the foyer wasn’t part of it. One of the stairways to the second level of the foyer had collapsed, chandeliers hung lopsided - one had even crashed to the ground, flattening the coffee table beneath it.

Porcelain and glass crunched underfoot as Mary took a few hesitant steps forward. A lampshade lay a few feet away - one of the many vintage lamps sitting on various tables in the foyer must have been thrown at the wall. It made something in her chest constrict. Had she been too late?

Against her better judgement, she called out.

“Knox?”

There was no answer.

Mary tried to swallow her panic and attempted to figure out her next plan of action. The obvious thing to do was go floor by floor and see if she could find any sign of Knox. Signs pointed to elevator access on the second level, but first she approached the front desk in search of keys. It’d make her life easier.

She didn’t find keys, but she did find a fading yellow newspaper. It was decades old, there was no reason it should have been there - yet the bolded headline told her all she needed to know. ‘MURDER AT THE OCEAN HOUSE - Mother or Father could have been killer’.

The paper threatened to crumble when she picked it up, and Mary took the utmost care to keep her claws out of the way. Further reading revealed that the cause of the hotel fire was related to the destruction of a family that had vacationed there - two children dead and dismembered, the parents found burned to death in their bed. If there was ever something that would create ghosts, what had happened was certainly enough.

It explained how terribly sad she felt. Mary set the paper down and started for the stairs that were still intact, wondering if the ambient feeling in the air was something the living could pick up on. Something to ask Knox, she guessed.

If he was still alive.

The stairs groaned and creaked under her feet, as if the hotel itself was expressing pain. As with the first floor, numerous objects were strewn on the ground - an old rotary phone was in pieces, paintings had shattered against the railing. It was as if a tempest had blown through. Part of the railing caught the light - on further inspection she saw a smudge of blood against the wood. Still fresh.

“Shit.” Mary murmured, jogging to the elevator. Hitting the call button she found herself growing increasingly resentful of elevators on principle - they were eating up valuable time.

A groan sounded from above, and the walls shook. Instinctively Mary lunged away just in time to avoid splintering wood as the elevator slammed into the bottom of the shaft. Shrapnel embedded itself in the wall opposite.

“Be careful. He’s angry.”

It was a woman’s voice, whispering in her head - it made her jump and peer around for its owner, though this time Mary knew she’d find nothing. To be spoken to from the grave was bone chilling. Worse was the idea that for decades whatever souls lingered here were trapped with nothing but their own sorrow and anger to keep them company.

Mary wondered if that was to be her fate. At least she was lucky enough to have a body and some agency - even if her body was a twisted one.

Almost comically the elevator dinged its arrival. The doors slid open despite the destruction and expelled a cloud of dust. The elevator lights flickered, revealing an empty if battered interior. Mary stepped inside and looked up at the emergency hatch - it was hanging by a single hinge, damaged in the collapse. The shaft beyond was dark, save for a small square of light several floors up. An open door.

Mary pretended she was in a heist film rather than a horror movie - to her surprise she was able to leap up and pull herself through the hatch. Her muscles may have looked atrophied, but they held more power in them than she’d ever possessed in life.

One of the cables attaching the elevator to the top of the shaft was still intact - she remembered never being fond of rope climbing in gym class, but the motions came naturally enough to her. Her claws made finding a good grip somewhat awkward, but at least her withered body meant there wasn’t much weight for her arms to support. Progress was faster than she’d thought possible, a thrill running through her at seeing her own power.

Maybe her twisted body had some perks.

Looking down wasn’t something she was going to risk, in any case. She approached the open doorway, her body illuminated by the light of the hallway beyond. A number painted on the shaft read ‘5’. Mary recalled from somewhere that a fall above three stories was usually fatal to human beings, and hoped that Kindred had a little more leeway as she tried to swing herself into getting enough momentum to leap the gap.

Her chest collided with the bottom of the doorway - if she still had air in her lungs it would have been knocked out of them. Thankfully her claws found purchase, ripping into the carpet and anchoring her in place. Mary scrabbled her way up into the hallway, finding herself coated in dust as she stood. 

The hall spanned the entire length of the hotel, flanked on both sides by hotel room doors. To the west the patterned carpet and filigreed wallpaper grew blackened - the scent of carbon and ash Mary had picked up on outside was intense. To the east the hall ended at a window. 

“Knox?” she called out again.

This time, she heard an answer.

“Mary?” A familiar voice echoed from the west, faint and shaking - but there. “I’m stuck - the floor was there, and now it’s not. I’ve been trying to find a way down.”

Relief flooded through her, buoying her like wind under wings. She took off sprinting toward the burned part of the hotel, feet pounding against the carpet and kicking up dust and ash in her wake. “Where are you?”

“Don’t run!” Knox cried out, just as the wall next to Mary burst open.

It happened too fast for her to truly comprehend - bits of drywall pelted her, and then her body was screaming in agony. A pipe had burst in just the right location, enveloping her in searing hot steam. Mary hit the floor hard, the edges of her vision going red.

She must have screamed, because Knox’s voice carried with it a distinct edge of panic. “Oh, shit. Hey! Hey! Talk to me, Mary!”

Pain in unlife was a distinctly different thing - it made her want to lash out, to tear the hotel apart with her bare hands. Mary laid twitching on the floor - part of her skin had melted, and carpet fibers stuck themselves to it as she rolled onto her back. A voice in the back of her head told her to find Knox and drain him dry for her trouble, to consume every last bit of him to bind her wounds back together. Mary ignored it, earning a headache in the process - it seemed that the louder the voice screamed the more punishing it was to ignore it.

At least the sharp pain had some benefit - she could tell where her wounds were. Instinct guided her, let her channel her vitae to the areas that needed it most. Melted skin scabbed over, knitting itself together in places where the damage wasn’t so bad and growing leathery and hard once more. The rest was a work in progress.

It was enough to make standing something possible again. “I’m still here.” Mary called back, her voice quivering. 

“Stay low to the ground, don’t stand near glass. The only thing he can do is use the environment.” Knox answered, relief obvious in his tone. It was odd hearing his voice lacking the chirping quality she’d come to associate with him - but she supposed if he’d already made his way through the hotel without supernatural strength on his side it was likely any cheeriness had been extinguished. Part of her wished the fire had finished the job on the cursed place.

“Did Therese tell you ghosts are harmless too?” Mary asked, doing as Knox instructed and creeping her way down the hall. She flinched when the walls burst open in front of her, more steam pouring forth in a steady jet - this time she was able to duck beneath it, though she found herself on the verge of panic just at the sound of hissing steam.

A nervous laugh. “Yeah. I nearly got killed getting the power going again. Y’know what happened here?” Knox’s voice was getting louder - she was getting closer. It was good to keep him talking - lucky for her, Knox loved to talk.

“I saw a paper in the lobby.” Mary called back. “And I heard a voice in my head.”

“That’s the wife.” Knox answered. “She’s stuck here, but she’s been really nice. Saved me from getting squished by the elevator.”

“You too, huh.”

“Seems like that’s the husband’s MO. You ever see The Shining?”

“Uh. Once, I think.”

“That happened! Sort of. Except the wife and kids didn’t make it out.”

“If I see ghost twins I’m leaving you behind.”

“Aw, man.” Knox laughed nervously again. “P-please don’t. I don’t wanna jump.”

The carpet beneath her feet grew blackened, the walls becoming more and more damaged the further down the hall she walked. Eventually she came to the end of it - there was a large hole where a doorway should be, revealing the burned out hotel room beyond. It must have been the location of the initial fire, for the entire corner of the building was exposed to the elements. The burned wood was rain soaked and slick.

“Hey, girl!” Knox called from above - Mary looked up, and saw his smiling face peering over from a room two floors above. There was a large bruise on his cheek, but his golden eyes still gleamed.

“How the fuck did you get up there?” The hole in the building cut off the part Knox stood on from the intact section of the hotel - there was no way he could have gotten to where he was.

He winced. “Don’t tell my master, but… I walked through the door over there -” Knox pointed eastward to the intact part of the hotel. “- and the room looked normal, except there was sun coming in through the windows. I think it’s because of this.” He stretched out his arm - Mary could see a necklace hanging, clenched in his fist. “I grabbed it, and… I was stuck. I think I stepped into another dimension or something.”  
Mary stared at him, flinching a little when raindrops splashed down onto her burns. “How am I supposed to get you down?”

“Catch me?” Knox asked, sounding like he wasn’t entirely sure of the plan himself. “If I jump I might break a leg. You guys are supposed to be really strong, though!”

True enough, she’d scaled the elevator shaft with enough ease. The alternative wasn’t one she wanted to see - even if Mary had earned some burns for her trouble, it wasn’t Knox’s fault. He tried to warn her. Letting him break a leg seemed like overkill.

“... okay.” Mary swallowed her nervousness. “I’ve never done anything like this before, just so you know.” A glance at the spikes at her shoulder, and she realized this might be a very, very bad idea. “It’s better you hit the floor than these, I think.”

“I’ll live!” Knox replied, leaning over the ledge as Mary stepped into position. “It’ll just hurt a lot. You ready?”

Mary winced, extending her arms. For the first time she was thankful they were longer than they’d been when she was alive - while they were distinctly inhuman, at least she had some reach. “As much as I’ll ever be, I think.”

Knox hopped off the ledge like a kid jumping off of a playground. He fell too fast for Mary to dwell on anything but instinct - he collided with her arms and she bent her knees to absorb the impact. It slowed him, but also sent her falling back onto her ass and Knox lurching to the side. He turned the momentum into a roll while Mary felt one of her shoulder spikes snap off as her back made contact with the floor. It sent another ripple of white-hot pain through her - it was like breaking a tooth.

They sat on the floor in silence for a few moments - Knox catching his breath and Mary gritting her teeth as the pain from her snapped shoulder spike faded. He started to laugh, and soon Mary joined him- they’d cheated death.

“That was awesome!” Knox exclaimed, wiggling his feet as if to make sure they were still working before crawling to a standing position. He tucked the necklace into his back pocket. “I’m gonna have the biggest bruises ever, though. Maybe they’ll be a world record! Too bad I can’t send them in.”

Mary blinked and crawled to her feet. “That hurt.”

Knox winced. “Sorry, girl. I really, really owe you one. Did Therese send you out here, too? I think she was trying to kill me, but I’m tougher than people give me credit for.” His smile returned.

All at once, Mary remembered her reason for coming to the hotel - and a wave of anxiety washed over her again. “I found your guy. The guy on the drivers license you found. He had your library card in his wallet - I think the killer’s tracking you. I came to warn you.”

It didn’t seem to bother Knox, but he at least had the grace to look touched. “Really? Well… thanks. I’ve been pretty good at avoiding him, though!”

“What makes you say it’s a guy?” Mary squinted at him.

Knox’s smile was genuinely fearful. “Well… I might have been following him for my master. For a little while. I think he’s one of those eastern vampires that showed up a few years ago.”

Mary stared. “And you didn’t tell Therese about it?”

“My master told me not to!” Knox hurriedly explained, likely seeing the murder in Mary’s eyes. “I’m just following orders, man - I don’t like people dying either.”

“I’m gonna have words with your master.” Mary scowled. Mercurio could have died, who knew how many other ghouls had died. Lily could have met the same fate - she thought of E’s sad eyes, staring out at the sea. Whatever reason Bertram Tung had for keeping his mouth shut, it had better be a good one. “Let’s go.”

Her shoulder ached with every step and Knox limped beside her, but getting out of the Ocean House was easier than getting in. Knox led her to a stairwell that brought them to the third floor, the stairs leading lower down blocked with rubble. They returned to the elevator shaft and slid down the cable to get back to the foyer. It seemed like whatever malevolent presence lurked in the hotel had given up - or had run out of things to throw at them. Both of them jogged to the front door, nervously looking around as if some last great catastrophe would strike before they could escape - but to their mutual joy, Knox and Mary found that the front door opened to the outdoors with nary a sound.

The fresh air was a relief, the scent of the sea cleansing the smoke lingering in her nostrils. Rain droplets fell on her face and washed away any remaining dust - though the sting of her burns made her quite intent to escape back to the sewers. Whatever ill aura had attached itself to her in the hotel was now gone - it seemed to have been affecting Knox, too, for now that they were out in the night air again he looked more like himself.

“Did you drive here?” Mary asked as they walked down the steps of the hotel’s entrance.

“Nah. Came the same way you did. Cars are expensive.”

“You don’t mind the sewers?”

“I don’t use them often, but my master says I should get familiar with them. If I become one of you guys, I’ll have to be.” Knox shrugged.

Mary couldn’t understand it. “Why would you want to be Nosferatu? There’s plenty of other Kindred out there who could probably use a ghoul. You’re pretty devoted. I wouldn’t have gone through that hotel just to save face for someone.”

“Depends on the person.” Knox replied with a smile. “I know you’re probably mad at him, but my master’s great. Maybe you’ll get to meet him once I get this back to Mrs. Voerman!” He patted his back pocket, where the necklace was.

“I’d better.” Mary muttered. She opened her mouth to say more, but felt something collide with her gut. 

“Shit!” Knox yelped and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her behind a backhoe. Something hit the metal. Mary looked down at herself, and saw a bolt piercing her abdomen. Another was stuck into the backhoe’s door.

“Shit.” she repeated. It didn’t hurt - well, it did, but compared to the burns she’d gotten in the hotel it was nothing. Mary peeked around the backhoe to see a man step into the light. His clothes were as dark as his hair, and he had a polite smile on his face. The crossbow he held was immense. The man set it down on the ground and bowed before he drew what looked like a katana from a sheath at his back. Mary ducked back behind the backhoe and turned to Knox. “Is that-”

Knox was pale. “The ghoul killer. Yeah.” He’d drawn a pistol from a holster hidden under his jacket.

“I’ve never fought anyone before.” Mary breathed.

“My gun’ll just distract him. This caliber isn’t gonna do much.” Knox winced. “I got a knife, but if I get close to him I’m dead. You got this! You’re an asskicking vampire!”

“Right.” Mary replied. She remembered the strength she had in scaling the elevator shaft, and hoped to whatever god had abandoned her that it’d serve her in fighting the ghoul killer. Vampires were a step above ghouls - maybe he’d have a worse time against her. But Knox had said he thought the killer was a vampire too…

There wasn’t any time for fear. If she didn’t act, she and Knox were dead. Mary leapt over the backhoe’s tracks just in time for the killer’s blade to graze the side of her ribs.

Much as it had in the hotel, pain came with rage. This time Mary let it overwhelm her. Blood of the ages ran through her veins, and she fell into battle as naturally as breathing. She swept her claws at the killer, ripping into his left arm - he jumped back to avoid her next blow and swung his blade in front of him in a wide arc, forcing her back in turn. It was like a dance - dodging to and fro, exchanging blows - she landed several more slashes on him but paid for it with his blade biting into the flesh of her arms. Blood splattered across the sand and grass. It was exhilarating - this was her purpose, each flash of pain only feeding her fury. Walking amongst humanity only granted her fear and paranoia, it was like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. Battle, though… feeling her claws rip through the flesh of an enemy made her blood sing.

Her opponent was precise where she was wild. Sometimes her claws would connect with his blade, creating sparks and sending shivers down her spine. Sometimes the parts of him she tried to rip into with her claws turned to mist. The killer’s black eyes gleamed with focus and confidence - for a moment Mary’s higher thought returned to her long enough to realize that he was acting defensively now, trying to tire her out long enough for her to slip up.

Mary snarled and lunged at him, her claws digging into his cheek and jaw, trying to rip it off and end their dance. Her opponent was silent even in spite of the damage - his cheek had been torn open to expose his teeth and gums, stained black by the vitae pouring out of his wounds. The pain must have been intense, yet it did not damage the killer’s composure - he had become still, staring her right in the eyes. Mary felt a cold sensation in her chest, and looked down to see that his blade had pierced it, cold steel gleaming against her flesh.

The killer smiled wide, now - tilting his head and starting to twist the blade. Mary’s arm’s shook with pain but she did her best to keep still. Any lateral movement on her part or his and she’d be bisected. This was it - a few last moments of being toyed with before the end. If she could blush she would have. Of all the emotions Mary thought she’d feel before her death, embarrassment wasn’t one of them - and yet she felt somewhat ashamed. She’d made it two nights.

A gunshot sounded, and a bullet ripped through the killer’s shoulder. It was enough to distract him for just a moment - and a moment was all she needed. Mary pulled the blade deeper into herself to close the distance between them and sank her teeth into the ghoul killer’s neck.

His blood was thicker than any she’d tasted - it was vitae, more potent than any human lifeblood. The killer released his blade and struck her with his fists, hitting whatever pressure points he could in an attempt to get her to release him, but her jaw was like a bear trap. The blows grew weaker before ceasing entirely, the killer’s body going limp in her grip. Mary released him, and his body collapsed to the ground. 

Mary stumbled backward, drunk on the new potency running through her. The killer had released his blade, and on glancing down she found the handle still sticking out of her. She grasped it and pulled the blade out of her. It made a sickly squelching noise, blood bubbling out around it, and Mary channeled her newly acquired vitae into binding the wound. She did the same with the crossbow bolt, yanking it out of her torso and throwing it to the ground - though she kept the blade in her right hand. The rain washed the blood from it, leaving it gleaming in the darkness.

At last she grew aware of her surroundings. Knox stood out in the open in front of her - he must have snuck around the two of them as they fought. The barrel of his pistol still smoked in the cool night air. “Sorry!” he called over. “I would’ve shot more, but I didn’t want to hit you. Jeez, you move fast.”

Mary stared at him, taking a few moments to process what he’d said. There was a moment where she saw him only as a vessel, as a walking source of blood - but when he spoke it broke the spell. “Thanks.” she murmured in reply, still feeling hazy. “It was a good distraction.” If he hadn’t been there she might have been in two parts. “You saved my ass.”

The compliment was waved off, though it put a shaky smile on Knox’s face. “You mind if I keep this?” he asked, picking up the crossbow that the killer had left behind. 

“Go ahead.” Mary replied, glancing down at the blade she still held. She didn’t know the first thing about swordplay, but seeing the gouges and slashes it had made in her leathery skin had her contemplating keeping it. She looked down at the corpse of the so-called ghoul killer. “Tough son of a bitch.”

“Yeah.” Knox laughed nervously. “But you got him! I was kinda scared for a bit there. If you find his wallet you wanna call it even between us? If there’s cash in there.”

Mary knelt beside her dead opponent and investigated his pockets. She found no wallet, no cash - but she did find a phone. She flipped it open and looked through the call logs and text messages. There were no named contacts - in fact, the only use of the phone seemed to be to text a single other number to no reply. They were reports - descriptions of ghouls killed and their purpose, notes on possible Kindred. Surely enough, the night before the killer had sent a text informing the receiver that he had attacked the Prince’s ghoul but had been interrupted. It was their man. Scrolling up, she found another message detailing the attack on the blood bank - blood reserves destroyed and a ‘test subject’ captured. Attached was a photograph of a young woman.

Lily. It had to be - she had the same faint blush to her cheeks that E and the other thin-bloods at the beach had possessed. She had a lead, though she didn’t know what it spelled for Lily.

The last message was just as concerning. The killer’s final text simply read that the Cainites in the city were weak, and that Los Angeles was ripe for the taking. Whoever the killer worked for had joined the fray in the war for the city. Camarilla, Sabbat, Anarchs, and… a mystery. 

“Those are the eastern vampires I was talking about.” Knox’s voice sounded from over her shoulder, nearly making her jump.

“Were you -”

“- reading them over your shoulder? Oh yeah.” Knox grinned. “I do it a lot! Most people don’t notice. You’ll probably want to give that phone to the Prince.” He tapped his head. “I got it all up here for my report to my master.”

Mary only nodded. She didn’t know if it was blood loss, pain, or the general thrill of the night, but she felt exhausted.

Knox checked his watch. “Aw, man. Gonna have to wait, the sun’ll be up soon.”

That’d explain the creeping fatigue. Without a word, Mary marched over to the manhole that led back to the sewers and tucked her new blade into her belt before she started downward. Knox followed at her heels, climbing down the ladder after her with the crossbow held awkwardly in the crook of his arm.

“Hey, uh… you mind if I crash at your place?” he asked once they were on solid concrete. “My master’s hiding so I can’t slum it with him, and my mom’s house is really far and if she saw my face like this she’d totally freak out.”

Mary was too tired to offer much resistance, starting down the long tunnel back to Santa Monica. It seemed only fair - he had essentially saved her life, after all. “Yeah, sure. It’s a shithole though.”

“Awesome!” Knox chirped - his leisurely pace kept up with her hurried one. Mary resented how tall he was. “I can sleep on the floor no problem and I promise I don’t snore.”

“If you open the curtains up and fry me I’ll haunt you worse than that ghost.” Mary muttered, a through line of paranoia creeping into the back of her mind. Therese sent her after him, Knox was the last person she’d seen if he decided to put Mary under the crisper - no way he’d be that stupid. Unless Bertram wanted her dead. It was enough to make her head spin - enough that she didn’t want to think about it too much. “You can have the bed, anyways. I can sleep under it - I used to hurt myself sleeping back when I was still alive, but now I can fall asleep in the shower and feel fine.” Knox peered at her curiously, and she felt another wiggle of embarrassment in her gut. She jumped back to the previous subject. “You live with your mom?”

“Rent’s kind of expensive, plus since dad died she doesn’t really have anyone to help her around the house.” Knox shrugged. “I don’t spend a lotta time over there these days since my master’s got me working so much.”

“What are you going to do about the whole never aging thing?” Mary asked, stepping over a rat nibbling at a piece of garbage, completely unaware of its surroundings.

Knox stared at his feet for several moments, the tunnels silent save for their echoing footsteps.“She’s sick.” he finally admitted. “I don’t think she’ll be around that long. I thought about asking my master to help her, but… she’s pretty religious. I don’t want to do that to her, y’know?”

“Oh.” It was the first time she’d seen Knox anywhere close to sad. Mary wanted to apologize, to say something to make it better - but there wasn’t really anything she could do.

“I’m boring.” That smile was on his features again - Mary wondered how often it was used to shield himself from the uncomfortable. How often had he faked it? Or was he just trying to keep forging cheerfully on in spite of it all? Either way, he was intent on changing the subject. “What about you? What did you do before being a badass vamp?”

Mary was tempted to put on a brave smile herself, but settled for stuffing her hands into her pockets. “It’s kind of fuzzy.” she admitted. “I used to work in network security. Cubicles and computers. I wasn’t born here. I don’t think I liked my parents.” Her nose wrinkled as she tried to recall details. “My sire gave me the choice between dying and becoming like him, and I picked the whole Nosferatu thing I guess. So I’m pretty boring too.” she shrugged. “Why do you want to join our clan of all options, by the way?” She squinted at him, as if she could dissuade him with a look.

Knox seemed puzzled by the very question. He started listing out reasons on his fingers. “You guys can turn invisible, are super strong, can take a beating, have the best info outta anyone out there, and you’re super close knit.” A pause. “Plus, they’re my master’s clan. I already have a foot in the door! Besides, it’s not like I wanna date anyone, so it’s not like this...” He waved his hand in front of his face. “... will be a problem.”

“We’re close knit?” Mary asked, her voice suddenly sounding very small. Creep was the only other Nosferatu who tried talking to her, and that was just to direct her to a guy who wanted to preach at her and didn’t care what she had to say. The idea of a clan that was more like family was foreign to her - was this what her Sire had cursed her with?

“That’s what my master said.” Knox didn’t break his stride. “Don’t worry! You’ll probably meet all of them soon.”

Yet Casimir had told her to find her kind. Maybe they just didn’t want anything to do with her. It brought back the strange wrenching feeling in her chest. “I hope so.” she muttered. 

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until the tunnel had become a little brighter signifying their return to Santa Monica. Knox’s company had made the return trip seem shorter - she’d miss the company. “My exit’s over here.”

Once they’d crawled out onto the street Knox put his height to use, walking beside her to shield her from view of the few people still out on the streets so late - Mary figured he must have done the same for his master, given how naturally it came to him. Not that they didn’t cut suspicious figures - Knox still held the crossbow in his arms and she had a katana. Then again, strange things always happened in the small hours of the night.

A few minutes later they were back in her apartment. Mary found it was a sight for sore eyes, everything exactly where she left it - she set her blade down on the counter next to the radio. Knox peered about curiously, seemingly enthralled with the grungy surroundings. He propped his new crossbow next to the door.

“I told you it’s a shithole.” she said offhandedly, immediately beelining toward the fridge the moment her hands were free. 

“It’s inside! That’s all you need.” Knox chirped in reply while she tore into another blood bag. 

Mary only shrugged and grunted - the watery refrigerated blood tasted like nectar after the night she’d had. She tried not to dwell on the fact that she only had one bag left - the money Mercurio had given her was going to have to be spent replenishing her supplies.

Meanwhile Knox had started to investigate her television set curiously - he wiped the dust from the screen with the sleeve of his jacket. “Is it okay if I watch TV?”

Exhaustion was starting to nag at her. “Yeah, sure. How long do you plan on staying here?” she asked, suppressing a yawn.

“I’ll be in the clear once the buses are running.” Knox replied, finally settling on a station with black and white reruns. Mary made a small noise of interest - she wouldn’t pin him as a fan of the classics. He’d just caught the opening credits for some cheery looking musical - Mary caught a flash of ‘AND STARRING… GARY GOLDEN’ before she looked away to toss the now empty blood bag in the trash.

Mary sat down on the carpet and leaned against the bed frame - despite her fatigue worry gnawed at her, the full trauma of the night settling over her properly now that she’d finally stopped moving. Knox hopped up on the bed - she felt the mattress dip behind her - and he fell similarly quiet.

Together they watched the musical in silence, the cheery music and elaborate dance numbers a stark contrast to the violence they’d seen that night. It was soothing, balm for the soul. As the movie dragged to a close and the sun started to touch the horizon, Mary crawled underneath the bed to slumber in the shadows. To her surprise, she found she liked the tight quarters. They felt safe.

“G’night, Mary.” Knox’s voice sounded from above. 

Part of her was reminded of movie sleepovers - she’d never had one of her own, and part of her regretted the circumstances of this one. “Good night, Knox.”


	6. Santa Monica III

Knox was gone when Mary awoke, leaving no trace of his presence behind. Well, almost no trace - when she opened the fridge to drain her last blood pack she found four on the bottom drawer instead of just one. A post-it note was stuck to the top of them.

_Thanks again for helping me out! I saw you were running low. See you around, girl!_

Beneath the message was a hastily scribbled phone number and a smiley face with fangs. Mary returned its smile, removing the sticky note and slapping it on her refrigerator door. Something to cheer the place up a little.

Mary’s next stop was the bathroom, investigating the lasting damage to her body in the mirror. Despite being stabbed the night before, she didn’t feel any lingering pain. The evidence of it, however, was hard to ignore. Her shirt was torn and the front absolutely drenched in blood - there was a large tear in it where the blade had pierced her. Frantic scrubbing in the sink was of little use. Eventually she just tore it off - the black sports bra she wore underneath was unharmed, at least. It exposed her horrendous skin for prying eyes - where she’d been wounded it’d sealed together bumpy and silver, scar tissue somehow even more leathery than normal, but at least she didn’t have hardened dried blood chafing against her. At least stomach baring outfits were in style, though Mary knew her figure wasn’t precisely what fashion outlets had in mind. Having more of her body exposed meant she had to be even more careful - each visible inch of her was another span of the human form gone wrong.

It didn’t worry her as much as she thought - she’d gotten good at slipping around unseen. The night was filled with promise - she’d dealt with the Ghoul Killer, Knox and Mercurio were safe - all she had to do was skip over to the Asylum and she’d be on her merry way to giving LaCroix a reason to let her live. A quick check of her mailbox downstairs revealed that Mercurio had come through for her on the phone front - she found a flip phone similar to the model of the ghoul killer’s within, though to Mary’s pleasure she found it was the color of obsidian. Her contacts list was fairly barebones - Mercurio’s number and that of LaCroix’s office. She made a note to put Knox’s in the next time she made it to her apartment - if Bertram was a no-go for information, maybe his ghoul would have something.

For once it wasn’t raining. She took it as a further good sign, creeping her way over to the Asylum. Things were relatively quiet for a Sunday night, and for that she was thankful. Even the music inside the club seemed a little less frenetic, a little quieter. Mary’s dead veins buzzed with eagerness as she rode the elevator up to Therese’s office.

The muffled yelling was audible even before the doors opened. It became clearer when she stepped out onto the landing, and it was vicious.

“You tried to kill him!” Jeanette screamed - Mary heard something smash against the wall. She tried the door and found it locked. _Shit_. She knew she should have asked Mercurio if she could borrow some tools.

“Tung wants to destroy us!” Therese shouted in reply, her voice cracking halfway through. “Look at how he’s poisoned you - never in my years could I imagine you betraying me, yet you let the wolf onto our doorstep.”

“Bertram was _kind_ to me.” Jeanette fumed. “You’ve only ever been cruel. Knox was only doing as he was told, and you tried to _kill him_. A child! Innocent! You’re a harpy, a demon-”

“Jeanette.” Even muffled through the wall, Mary could hear the threat in Therese’s voice.

“No! No more Jeanette, no more orders. I’m tired of this, Therese! I wish they’d torn us apart so I wouldn’t have to look at you.”

Mary flinched as a gunshot went off - loud enough to be unmistakable. Jeanette had started screaming wordlessly.

“Fuck the lock.” Mary muttered, taking a running lunge at the door and throwing her weight against it. To her surprise, it splintered easily - sending her sprawling to the floor.

Jeanette stopped screaming - that was a relief, at least. As Mary pushed herself up she saw Therese pointing a revolver at Jeanette’s vanity. The mirror was shattered. Slowly Therese turned, and Mary realized that something was very, very wrong.

On her left side Therese was made up as pristinely as ever save for a few flyaways in her bun - but her glasses were off. On the right side of her face the pale foundation and artfully running eyeliner of Jeanette was clear - and somehow, even her eye seemed to hold the same light and playfulness she’d seen in Jeanette.

Mary thought Therese had lost it, until she opened her mouth and spoke with Jeanette’s voice. “See, sister? Your cruelty’s drawn an angel to us. Will you kill her too?”

“Shut up.” Therese hissed with the same mouth but not the same voice. Mary’s eyes boggled at it.

Jack had mentioned something about a clan of vampires that seemed to have split personalities, strange mindsets and oracles in their bloodline. Malkavians. It explained why someone like Jeanette was so fond of a Nosferatu.

It was a matter completely out of her league, but Mary was intent on solving the problem. As Bertram had been to Jeanette, Jeanette had been to Mary. Kind. From what she’d remembered of her human life, kindness was rare. Judging by what she’d heard from Mercurio and Knox, kindness among Kindred was even rarer.

The fact that LaCroix’s judgement hung over her head also helped.

“Put the gun down.” Mary said gently but firmly, raising her hands to show she had no weapon herself - save her claws, and there wasn’t much she could do about those.

“Why should I?” Therese bit back. “My empire’s falling around me. My own blood has turned against me. Why shouldn’t I cut out the rot?”

Mary wondered if Therese realized she was now aiming the gun at her own head.

“Oh, yes - blow my brains out just as you did daddy’s.” Jeanette snarled before Mary could respond. “They’ll glitter so wonderfully in the light, at least.”

Something about it sent a deathly chill through her. Moisture sprung to Mary’s eyes, pain creeping forth from the fog of her past. It felt as if the blade had pierced her chest all over again, and she didn’t know why.

Therese’s grip on the revolver went slack, and she tilted her head. Whatever gripped Mary was proving to be a distraction, at least.

“You’re not the only murderer, sister.” Jeanette said, eyes widening.

“They were always watching.” Therese murmured, taking a few steps toward Mary. “Your skin was leather before, too.”

“You had to be strong. Only a few more months and you were free. Summer was so soon.” Jeanette continued. “But they found out about the girl. A kiss under the bleachers -” she sighed wistfully. “- and you thought you knew what happiness was.”

Mary wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the twins narrated her memories. “They were always watching.” she choked out the same words Therese had said. “My parents-”

“You hid his gun, but he still almost killed you. Locked you in your room. He didn’t know he made you clever.” Therese now stood by Mary’s side, her voice a whisper.

“You were all the colors of a sunset, purple and red.” Jeanette cooed. “Pick pick pick, went the lock. They were sleeping. You took the gun. They’d never hurt you again.”

Mary looked up, expression a pleading one. She hadn’t expected such a trip into memory, she didn’t know how Therese and Jeanette knew something about her she didn’t know herself. “Don’t make me remember.”

Therese was silent for a moment. “You were alone.” she spoke after a few beats of silence, the edge of her mouth quivering.

Jeanette’s voice cracked. “But we weren’t.”

“No, we weren’t.” Therese replied, her expression softening. She dropped the gun. It hit the floorboards with a dull metallic thud. She offered her hand to Mary.

Mary took it, and Therese’s left hand - no, _Jeanette’s_ hand - folded over hers. Together the two sisters pulled Mary back to her feet. Jeanette brushed wood splinters from Mary’s shoulder.

The revelation was an unwelcome one. Jack had said she wasn’t a saint when she lived, and she wasn’t - she knew that now. Patricide, matricide - sins even in the dark ages, plastered to her name. Maybe she had earned her curse.

“You’re right.” Mary breathed, recollections knitting together, synapses forming. “I didn’t have a sister like you did. I looked for help, but…” She winced. Again the pain returned, painful memories present even after her escape. Mary shook her head. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember, and she didn’t want to give Therese and Jeanette a chance to remember it for her. “You… you always have each other.”

Jeanette looked like she was about to cry, and Therese’s gaze was downcast. It was eerie, seeing two different expressions play out in tandem on the same face.

“Therese.” Jeanette whimpered. “I’m sorry. Bertram and I - they were just little pranks.”

“I knew neither of you were the killer.” Therese replied. “I have been cruel to you, Jeanette. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”

Mary watched the split personality with both envy and sadness - to have a companion, even in one’s own head - it was a comfort she nearly desired for herself. She rubbed at her collarbone, trying to soothe the ache in her chest.

“I’m not an idiot.” Jeanette mumbled. “Let me in. I want to help.”

“I don’t want you hurt.” Therese replied. “But if people think they can use you…”

“Let them.” Jeanette suddenly smiled, a wicked plan forming in her mind. “They’ll tell me all sorts of things, and think you’ll never know. I’m just a silly doll, after all.”

Therese clapped her hands - her and Jeanette’s hands? “Oh, Sebastian. You fool.”

Mary cleared her throat. She had a feeling that overstaying her welcome would end poorly, given that the two sisters had begun to formulate plans. “Speaking of LaCroix. If you guys are alright, I… kind of need to talk to Bertram Tung.”

“Oh.” Therese blinked. In a moment she gathered her composure, returning to her usual businesslike demeanor. “Of course. Knox told me of the service you’ve rendered us - and him. Jeanette, if you please?”

Jeanette took a cellphone out of Therese’s jacket pocket and fired off a text with one hand. She stared at the screen expectantly, and sure enough within a few moments the phone vibrated. “Feud’s off!” Judging by her grin she was more than eager to continue the text conversation, but Therese plucked the phone from her hand before she could continue.

“I believe I’ve upheld my part of the arrangement.” Therese tucked the phone back into her jacket pocket.

“Where can I find him?” Mary inquired.

Jeanette giggled. “Go run errands. I’m sure he’ll find you.”

“And fledgling?” Therese asked with a raised brow, as Mary made her way to the doorway (and the few scraps of wood still holding onto the hinges).

“Yeah?”

“If you tell anyone what you saw tonight, we’ll have to -”

“- kill you.” Jeanette finished, beaming from ear to ear.

“I’m pretty sure nobody would believe me anyways.” Mary murmured. Her night had taken a sharp turn, and the recollection of her memories had exhausted her only an hour into the evening.

As she rode the elevator back down to the main level of Asylum she had to admit that things still had gone fairly well, all things considered. While she hadn’t expected to discover Jeanette and Therese shared a body that night, neither of them had killed each other (or Knox, or herself) and now she was about to meet someone from her clan who just might give her some answers.

Were the answers good ones, she wondered, walking through the club as quickly as she could and trying to ignore the recoils of people around her - the sight still stung. The first layer of memory she’d peeled back was a painful one, terribly so - it shook her, made her question if she hadn’t deserved the unlife she now found herself in. Maybe trying not to act like the monster she appeared to be was fruitless. Maybe the monster she appeared to be reflected what she was on the inside.

No. It didn’t feel right. It was self defense. The pain came from the fact that her sin had to occur at all - parents were supposed to love their children. Even Casimir had shown her more care, she knew that now.

The pavement was hard underfoot as Mary made her way back to Mercurio’s apartment. She had explosives to pick up, tools to borrow, and thanks to give.

For the first time there was evidence of someone else living in the building. Mary knocked on Mercurio’s door and listened to muffled music coming from the apartment across the hall. She didn’t know what she’d do if the door to it opened before Mercurio let her in. She made up some fanciful tale of taking Mercurio to a Halloween party in her head - but to her relief the only door that opened was Mercurio’s.

With a couple nights behind him, the injuries he’d sustained were fully healed. He _was_ good looking, Mary now knew - in a grungy, effortless sort of way. While she lived it might have piqued her interest beyond trivia - now it was just another fact to hold onto. He ushered her in quickly, well-aware of the risk just having her standing in the main hall presented. “Hey, kid. You… you uh, look rough. Rougher than usual, I mean.”

Mary winced. “It’s been an interesting couple hours. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough.” Mercurio raised his hands, dropping the subject. “You got the phone?”

“Yeah.” she replied, patting the pocket of her cargo pants. It sat in the same pocket the ghoul killer’s phone did. “I also took care of that ghoul killer, so it’s safe for you to head out again.”

“No shit?” Mercurio’s eyes widened. “Who was the bastard? You give him a couple from me?”

Mary rubbed the back of her head, fingertips brushing scaly skin. “Knox said he was one of the eastern vampires. Trust me, he’s in worse shape than you ever were.”

“Good.” Mercurio muttered, walking over to his coffee table and picking up a pack of cigarettes. “Mind if I smoke?”

Mary shook her head.

“Nothing like a celebration ciggie.” Mercurio said, placing the cigarette between his lips and lighting it. He inhaled deeply, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a relieved sigh before filling her in. “They’re called Kuei-Jin. Well, that’s what you types call them. Not exactly a polite word, by my understanding - but I’ve never heard anyone be polite when it comes to them. They gave the Anarchs a good kicking a few years ago when they hit the continent and have been hanging around since. They hate your kind, so it makes sense why they’d be starting shit.”

“Are we at war?” Mary asked, suddenly alarmed. If it wasn’t for Knox she’d likely be in pieces - she didn’t know if she could take on another Kuei-Jin.

“They made a truce with the Anarchs, and the Camarilla’s upholding it.” Mercurio shrugged. “We ghouls don’t really count, I guess. It’s easy enough to make more of us.”

Mary scowled. “You’re not disposable.”

“The ones of us that are smart aren’t.” Mercurio agreed. “You gotta find your niche. Make the regnant - the guy giving you blood - think twice about giving you the chop.” He flicked ash into a nearby tray. “You didn’t come here to talk about ghouls, though. I’m guessing you’re here for the Astrolite now that the killer’s dead?”

“And a flathead screwdriver. If that’s okay.” Mary added.

“Looking to bust into somewhere, huh. I’ll get you set up. Follow me.”

Mercurio opened one of the doors flanking his living room - Mary followed him into a dark bedroom. The walls were slate grey, the bed neatly made and bare. A bachelor’s bedroom, minimalist and clean. Black and white photographs were clustered on the dresser - one was of Mercurio in Times Square, the cars surrounding him straight out of the seventies.

“Hey, no snooping.” Mercurio called over his shoulder - he was kneeling in front of his open closet, turning the dial on a safe. “I know you’re a Nos, but come on.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “They’re out in the open, it’s not snooping. When did you come to LA?”

He shrugged. “Years ago. Don’t remember. I got heat on me back in New York - Sabbat overran the east coast, things got bad. Hear they’re better now, but I’m not risking it.” The safe creaked open and he withdrew what looked like a few bottles of bleach taped together with wires sticking out of them, placed in a plastic shopping bag for ease of transport. “Here’s your Astrolite. It’s easy to arm - just hit the button here - ” he gestured at a button near a digital time display. “ - rigged for six minutes, so you better haul ass.”

“I’m good at that.” she grinned. “... The Sabbat overran the east coast? What do you mean by things got bad?” Mary asked, taking the bag.

Mercurio walked to a desk in the room next - the computer sitting on it was probably the one he’d emailed her from. He opened a drawer and started shifting through it - even he wasn’t immune to having a junk drawer, it seemed. “You know - Sabbat bad. Murder rates went way up, humans getting killed all over the place, mass embraces. Bad place to be a ghoul. LaCroix had me escort an elder to the transport they were getting out of the city and we got jumped. The elder, me, a couple of vamps about as old as you are. We got jumped, I got beat about as bad as you saw me a couple nights ago. Elder and I were the only people to make it. You types get deadly when you’re older.”

“You were tougher than vampires?” Mary couldn’t keep the awe from her voice.

Mercurio grinned, looking a little bashful. “Ghouls are the same. We get deadly when we get old. As long as we get the blood we don’t die - rumor is, we get old enough and people start having trouble telling the difference between us and vamps.”

Briefly she thought of Knox in some far-flung sci-fi future, his eyes glowing gold and his smile deadly. “What happens if you stop getting the blood?”

He stopped mid-search. “We go back to normal.” he said slowly, resuming his search. “If I don’t get fed, I’m going to look my age for the first time in decades. Those poor suckers who get up past a hundred turn straight to dust. Pretty nasty.”

“So if anything happens to LaCroix…”

Mercurio found what he was looking for - he slapped a screwdriver onto the top of his desk loud enough to cut her off. “I’m an old man. Maybe dead. There’s ways of keeping it up without a regnant, but that’s a fast way to piss off the powers that be. You see why I’m not fond of the Anarchs.”

“They want LaCroix dead?”

“A lot of them do.” he replied, offering her not only the screwdriver but a small box of paperclips. “Here. Should help you get in where you’re not wanted.”

“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” Mary said gratefully, slipping them into one of her back pockets. “What do you think about LaCroix?”

He smiled humorlessly. “Kid, you have to understand that my loyalties are all but written in blood. My opinion’s moot.”

It was a self awareness that Knox lacked, but even speaking the way he did seemed to pain Mercurio. “The other ghoul I met wasn’t that candid.” Mary frowned. “Is it worth it?”

There was a long pause - he looked at her as if she was testing him, considering his next words. “I’ve done a lot of crazy things, seen a lot of shit. I’ve watched people I used to know grow old while I’m still learning. Yeah, I’d say it’s worth it.”

Still, she wanted more - she felt by understanding she’d have some knowledge of what awaited her in her own future, and if she wasn’t just better off catching the next sunrise while she could. “What if LaCroix loses the city?”

Mercurio’s eyes flashed with warning. “You got a habit of saying things you shouldn’t. It’s my job to be prepared. That’s all I’ll say.”

It was enough to get her to back off. Knox held nothing but affection for his master, while Mercurio seemed to have a vein of caution. Whether it was due to age or the so-called regnants themselves was up in the air. “Guess I’ve always had a loud mouth.” she muttered before clearing her throat. “Guess I should get going. I’ve got a meeting with Tung.”

Mercurio nodded, looking thankful for her departure. “Be careful out there. The Sabbat aren’t anything to fuck with. Call me if you’ve got questions.” He opened one of the bedroom windows, the breeze sending the dark curtains billowing inward. Probably airing out the place - she’d lingered too long. It was a reminder of the separation between them - confirmation of what she was. They could talk politely enough, but even he couldn’t stomach the smell for too long.

Mary dared one last glance at the photographs on his dresser before she left. “You got it.”

It hit her as she walked back to her apartment that she had enough explosives to level a warehouse tucked in a grocery bag. Somehow the exciting had become mundane. Maybe that was just how unlife went - things that belonged in a movie were just another errand to run. If there was any place to live a movie, Los Angeles was certainly it. Or maybe that was what such things always were - made more exciting through myth and romanticization, while in truth as mundane as anything else.

The door to her apartment was unlocked when she got to it. She knew she locked it on her way out. Her body grew still, muscles tense - she let the door swing open but didn’t enter. What she could see of the apartment looked normal - even the katana she’d gotten was still sitting where she left it. Slowly she stepped inside, placing the Astrolite by the door.

Mary didn’t have to wait long to find the intruder. A cloud of smoke rolled off her bed, similar to what happened when she dropped the cloak of shadows around her. It revealed a figure laying upon it - a Nosferatu. There was nothing else he could be, hairless with a nose and teeth as wicked and malformed as hers. He was sitting upright, leaning casually against the wall - his hands were folded neatly in his lap, claws brushing against each other. The intruder was dressed plainly - dark jeans and a leather coat. Apart from the general markers of her clan, the most noteworthy thing about him was the particular way the clan curse manifested - his head was riddled with lumps and tumors.

“Hey, cupcake.” The intruder said with a smirk. “Close the door. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

“You Bertram?” Mary asked, her hand hovering on the doorknob.

“The one and only. Word of advice, sunshine - don’t let people into your Haven. It defeats the whole purpose.” Bertram snapped his fingers and pointed to Knox’s post-it note on her fridge.

Mary slowly closed the door. “He told you.” The realization stung.

“He’s my ghoul, of course he did.” Bertram rolled his eyes. “He also told me you were running low on blood, fought like a wildcat with all the messiness that implies, and informed me you’re a big ol’ softie. Don’t worry, most fledglings are.”

She couldn’t help but glare at him - he was lounging as if he owned the place and his tone was too close to condescending for her comfort. Still, she needed information - and so she had to play ball. Distantly Andrei’s voice echoed in her mind as she took a seat in her desk chair - _a dog, following at the heels of her betters._ Mary pushed the voice away and tried to give off a casual air, unwilling to show how the breach of trust affected her. “That sucks. He seemed nice.”

“He _is_ nice.” Bertram agreed. “Best damn ghoul I could ask for, if I’m being honest. People say I give him too much wiggle room, but the kid gets shit done. People think he’s an idiot, and he gets a Kindred to take care of a fuckin’ Kuei-Jin for him. Nothing personal, cupcake, just how things work. Christ, you’re a sad case, huh? Nosferatu without a sire. Tsk tsk.”

He liked the sound of his own voice, that was obvious enough. Mary simply stared at him as he chatted away, a frown etching itself onto her features. “I’m not offended.” she shrugged. “I would’ve done it if he was honest about it too - people were dying. I just want to know - you knew who the killer was. Why didn’t you tell Therese? Or LaCroix?”

“Because he was only killing ghouls. You’re new, so I’ll fill you in - LA’s a powder keg. You’ve got the Camarilla, Anarchs, Sabbat, and Kuei-Jin all fighting over it. No one’s strong enough to take on all of the others by themselves, and they all hate each other too much to buddy up. But if one slips up and pisses off one of the others, the other two will be happy to dogpile in. It’s an undead cold war, newbie, and whoever sheds first blood loses.” Bertram stretched out on the mattress, sinking into the pillows behind him. “It makes being Nosferatu good business - everyone’s willing to pay a premium to keep track of what’s going on, so you lucked out when it comes to clan even if it doesn’t feel like it. Anyways - if any one of us made a move on a Kuei-Jin who hasn’t attacked any Kindred, that’s cause for war if the Kuei-Jin happens to survive. But in self defence?” His black eyes sparked with mischief.

Mary realized Bertram might have had everything mapped out from the beginning. “Did you know I was coming to Santa Monica?”

Bertram laughed, a rasping, gurgling sound. “Oh, kiddo, you’re precious. Everyone with ears knows you’re in Santa Monica. If you thought gossip was bad when you were alive, it’s exponentially worse now. Gossip’s as good as blood. Which is why you gotta keep your Haven private - you make an enemy who’s offering a high enough price, and that information might just fall into their hands. The last thing you want is someone’s ghoul bashing in the door and ripping your curtains open at high noon.” He clicked his claws together thoughtfully. “You’re an interesting specimen - the execution was quite a show, and your Sire’s got people talking.”

“You knew him?” Mary perked up in her chair.

Bertram cast his eyes to the astrolite by the door. “Information doesn’t come cheap. You and I both have a job to do here, so I’ll get down to business.” He took a slip of folded paper out of his pocket and handed it to her - a written address. “That’s where you’ll find the warehouse. I’ll even be nice and give you this, too.” He leaned over to pull something from his back pocket and tossed it her way - a map of the sewers. “It’s got a few of the hidden above ground routes we use on it too. I can pick up another copy back at the warrens, but I’m not giving you another one if you lose that.”

Mary squinted down at the parts of the folded map she could discern - notes were written on it in multiple colors of pen, recommended routes and feeding grounds. It was as good as gold - it’d save her sucking on blood packs. “I was told it’s a Sabbat warehouse. Am I going to have to fight my way through it?”

“Pft.” Bertram snickered. “What are you, a Brujah? Use your head, sunshine, come on. You can sneak past a few humans and shovelheads. They’ve just got grunts working it, nothing spectacular. Unless you don’t know how to use Obfuscate?” He raised a brow.

“It was the only thing my sire taught me.” Mary murmured. “I know.”

“Well thank fuck for that.” Bertram purred. “See, you’ll be fine. If you do manage to fuck up, knocking some heads together isn’t going to blow the Masquerade. They all know the score already - Sabbat.” He rolled his eyes. “They’ll be dead once those explosives blow either way. You’ve got plenty of evening left. Go blow up that warehouse and come back here so we can have a proper chat.”

Mary bit her lip - accidentally drawing forth a few pearls of blood. Her teeth were sharper than she thought. “About the warehouse.”

Bertram was silent for once, tilting his head.

She didn’t know if her next words were a bad idea. Bertram had used her as an unwitting pawn once already - Mercurio had said she had a bad habit of saying the wrong thing - and yet she desperately wanted answers. If nothing else, some reassurance that she was going to last the week at least. “I got an invitation from the Sabbat. One of their people wanted to talk to me. He wore red robes, weird head, said something about a Red Star-”

Bertram cackled. “Superstitious bullshit. They’re predictable, I’ll give them that. Let me guess, he told you the world was going to end, that they were the only people that could stop it, rambled on about how they were chosen and so were you.”

Mary blinked at him.

“That’s typical Sabbat for you. Culty assholes. They’ve been saying the world’s going to end for at least six hundred years, cupcake. Don’t believe a word of the crazy. If you’re scared that warehouse is going to piss them off, don’t worry - if you’re half the softie Knox says you are, you'd do something else to get them angry if it wasn’t the warehouse deal. They don’t like bleeding hearts.” He winked. “Don’t worry about it. Go make some fireworks.”

He was insistent, that much was certain - and she wanted to know why. “What are you getting out of this?”

The question impressed him - Mary could see a hint of pride in his gaze. “Atta girl. Those are the questions you _should_ be asking - just not out loud. People get offended over the silliest things.” He smirked. “What do I get out of this? I get to show the Prince I’m competent - not that it’s ever been in question, but it’s good to remind people that you’re good at your job.” Bertram grinned. “It might get you a favor down the line, or some cash. Be polite, sunshine. It’ll get you far.”

Mary certainly didn’t feel like being polite, but she was starting to get the idea that she was going to do a great many things she didn’t feel like doing in the future. She stood up and stuffed the map into her free back pocket. “Guess I’ll head out, then.”

“Guess you will.” Bertram smirked, picking up the remote and turning on her television set. “Try not to die.”

She only grumbled in reply, shutting her apartment door behind her with more force than intended. Whatever kindness Jeanette saw in Bertram Tung, he spared none for her.

So much for close knit.

\--

Three hours later, she was covered in blood that wasn’t hers and sprinting down train tracks, desperately hoping she’d put enough distance between herself and the warehouse. Putting down the explosives was easier than she thought with the shadows as her constant companion and numerous goons wandering conveniently out of sight to give her a chance to feed - even if they tasted like cigarette smoke and bitterness. Getting out in time was another matter entirely - she couldn’t afford to be delicate. She’d taken a couple bullets to the shoulder blades and tore a man in two, and amidst the fray she couldn’t remember if it had been five minutes or six.

The light was the first thing visible - a flash from behind her illuminating the train tracks as clear as day she’d never see again. It filled her with a primal fear, and yet she turned to behold the massive fireball in the distance. The shockwave hit next, sending her sprawling onto the gravel while the sound of the explosion thundered in her ears. It wasn’t anything like the movies. It was terrible.

Mary’s ears rang - slowly she lifted her head from the ground, batting away the dirt and small pebbles sticking to it. She froze, seeing the same white wolf she’d spotted at the beach standing in the middle of the tracks in front of her only a few yards away. Its eyes gleamed yellow.

“I killed you.” she mumbled in confusion. Had she gotten the ghoul killer’s identity wrong? Her stomach flipped in panic, a dozen possible futures springing to mind in which Therese or LaCroix found out she’d fucked up, none of them pleasant.

The wolf cocked its head, and the air around it rippled. Silver fur flattened and became sleek, darkening in some spots and growing into thick leather in others. She watched in mixed fascination and horror as it transformed, changing its gait from all fours to bipedal right in front of her eyes. In a single breath the wolf was gone, and a man in a duster with round shades that could not disguise his glowing eyes stood in its place.

“Hardly.” The man replied with a gentle smile - somehow it set her at ease. “Come now, off the ground - you can still stand, can’t you?”

Mary found that she could, scrambling to her feet. She was shorter than the man in the coat - shorter than most people, to her eternal chagrin. “Who are you?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose it’s only polite to introduce ourselves. I am Beckett, historian and archaeologist, to make things simple.” He held his hand out to her. “And you?”

Historian and archaeologist - he was the type of man she wanted to talk to, suspicious though she may be. “Mary.” she replied, looking at Beckett’s offered hand. It was gloved. Hesitantly she extended her own, shaking it. She recalled Jack’s teasing words. “Briar Mary, if you want to get fancy. I don’t… really know what I’d call myself.” A glance back at the roaring fire that used to be the warehouse. “Arsonist?” _Murderer_ , a voice answered in her mind - the very same that urged her to destroy. Fed as she was, it was easy enough to bat it away.

Beckett laughed politely. “That will have to do for now. Briar Mary? It suits.” He glanced at the spikes of her shoulder - stained with blood from where she’d shoulder-checked some poor human minutes before. “I’ve been investigating the sense of unease permeating the Angeles as of late - my apologies for not introducing myself sooner. The matter of the Wan Kuei causing trouble in Santa Monica is part of a bigger puzzle, one which I was very keen to discover when we met at the cliffs.”

“Wan Kuei?” Mary asked with a raised brow. “You mean the Kuei-Jin?”

“No, I mean the Wan Kuei.” Beckett corrected. “A term you should familiarize yourself with, as you share this city with them - it’s the classic term for the Kuei-Jin, and one that will gain you favor for using.” He still wore his small smile - polite and speaking to many words left unsaid.

Mary found herself strangely drawn to the man, but kept her distance. “Are you a friend of theirs?”

It got another chuckle out of him. “I’m a friend to all and no one, to my everlasting dismay. These are terrible nights to be independent, but it’s a rewarding life.” He lowered his glasses, looking at her with his bare eyes - they were still that of a wolf’s, Mary noted with awe. “Tell me - you’re fond of Obfuscate, aren’t you?”

She didn’t like his tone. “Yeah. So what?”

“Each discipline carries its own certain… quirks. Over use of Obfuscate tends to erode one’s sense of place in reality, given enough time. Side effects include paranoia, unease when visible, enforced isolation…”

Mary blinked at him. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“You’re small. Follow the example of the rats. They don’t need to force the shadows to do their bidding to remain unseen. The natural world has much to teach us, for we’re a part of it whether we like it or not.”

It made a certain kind of sense. Mary recalled Bertram’s words - _information isn’t cheap_ \- and folded her arms, looking at Beckett with some suspicion. “Thanks, I guess. Why are you here, anyways?”

“I just told you - investigating the unease in the city.” Beckett returned his glasses to their original place on his nose, giving his head a small shake. He reminded her of her high school history teacher in an odd way. “You’re part of it through no fault of your own, and in seeing you I believe I can put certain outlandish rumors to rest.”

“Is it because of the Red Star?” Mary blurted out, desperately curious to find out just what Andrei spoke of.

“One of many concerns, yes.” Beckett lifted his eyes to the sky, looking at something that she couldn’t see. “The _Final Nights_ , they call these years. Strange what a new millennium does to people - I wonder if the same mania followed the one previous. Yes, a red star has appeared in the sky, though it’s been given a scientific explanation. Kindred are a superstitious sort no matter what the truth, unfortunately. Would you believe a few in this city worry you’re a harbinger of doom?”

Mary blinked at him. Knox had described her as a _softie_ \- the image didn’t quite click with a harbinger of doom. “No.” she answered.

“Modesty? How refreshing.” Beckett’s smile widened a little. “Your Sire created quite the scene. No, Mary, I’m sorry to say that I don’t think you’ll be bringing about the world’s end. Just because vampires are real does not mean that every conspiracy theory and rumor in the world is as well - you’ll do well to keep that in mind. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your thoughts - however…” He retrieved an elegant golden pocket watch from the breast of his duster. “... the night grows late, and I’m sure you’re expected elsewhere. We’re likely to meet again, fledgling.”

“It was nice meeting you.” Mary remembered her manners just in time for Beckett’s form to return to that of the white wolf, sprinting further down the tracks. She watched him disappear against the horizon before turning back to weave her way through the sewers once again.

So far every night had been packed with activity. Already she longed for a break. Wistfully she thought of her haven - then remembered who had taken up residence inside of it.

No rest for the wicked.

\--

“I thought I smelled smoke.” Bertram purred as Mary opened the door to her apartment. It had started raining again, but she hadn’t spent enough time above ground to wash all the blood off. “You should check the evening news tomorrow, I bet it’ll be quite a show.”

Mary walked into the bathroom to scrub the now dried blood from her skin and shoulder spines, but let the door open. She could see Bertram’s reclining figure reflected in the bathroom mirror. “I already got front row seats.” she muttered. “So - about that information.”

“I’m a man of my word.” he replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Go ahead and shoot, fledgling.”

She was thankful for the distance, the lack of eye contact. “What do you know about my sire?”

“Starting with the big question.” Bertram mused. “He was nice enough to introduce himself to Gary, but didn’t do the Prince the same favor.”

“Gary?”

“Your primogen. Head of the clan in LA. He’s supposed to answer to the Prince and make sure we’re all following the Camarilla’s rules, but we’re trusted enough not to require babysitting. Not that anyone would try forcing us to do anything even if they wanted to.” Bertram grinned. “Keep up the good work and you might meet him someday.”

The washcloth in Mary’s hands was long past the white color it had once been - now it held a permanent tinge of sienna. “Anything else?”

“He was scary as hell. Sorry there’s not much of a family resemblance, cupcake.” he cooed. “The last anyone saw of him was back in France a couple centuries ago, so he’s old, too. Well. Was old.”

It wasn’t all - not if Andrei had been telling the truth - but something about Bertram’s tone suggested it was all he was willing to tell.

“I don’t think anyone expected you to make it this long, to be honest.” he continued. “Nosferatu childer left on their own don’t really last long - it’s just asking to blow up the Masquerade. You’ve done good so far, sunshine.”

At last, the remnants of gore from her night were finally clear. Mary returned to her office chair. “Not everyone.” she corrected. “I was asked to stop in at the Last Round once I made it out of Santa Monica.”

It prompted a dramatic eye roll from Bertram. “Yeah, don’t think Smiling Jack slinking off after you went unnoticed. Typical Anarchs trying to stir the pot. They talk a good game, but they’d have kept LA if they were half as competent as they say they are. Chaos isn’t good for the long term. I’d steer clear if I were you - they’re glorified shovelheads.”

Mary frowned. “Nines Rodriguez didn’t seem that way.”

“Ah, Rodriguez. The only reason the Anarchs are still kicking, if you ask me.” Bertram leaned forward, interest piqued. “He’s an intriguing one. Not often you see a Brujah who can control his temper. He’s as good with people as a Toreador, and more Kindred go Anarch every night because of him. A real salt of the earth guy. I’d love to see the skeletons in his closet.” He studied Mary for a moment. “Don’t fall in love with him just because he stood up for you. You’re smarter than that.”

Yet Jeanette had fallen for Bertram because he was kind to her. Mary was tempted to bring it up, but she had a more urgent line of questioning to follow.

“This is going to sound crazy.” she prefaced, already worried she was making a mistake. “But - I think I know him from somewhere. I remember what the Last Round looks like, but I’ve never been there.”

“Rodriguez?” Bertram was sitting straight up now, completely alert. “No way. You’re telling me you knew him back when you were _kine_?”

“I don’t know if I knew him.” Mary replied defensively. “I just… remember.”

“Well, you’d better forget. It’s a good rule of thumb not to think about who you were when you were human. If whatever happened was important enough to remember, it’s going to hurt now. And it’s probably something _bad_.” Even as he warned her Bertram buzzed with curiosity, split between giving her advice and learning more.

Mary recalled the memories forcefully dredged up by Therese and Jeanette - her past did carry with it pain, and she knew a great shadow still lingered in the fog of memory. But something about the Last Round was warm, bittersweet. It wasn’t unwelcome - she didn’t feel the ice in her chest that the other recollections held.

“I don’t think it was.” Mary replied. “I’m not afraid when I think about it, just… confused.”

“You’re confused because you don’t remember what it was.”

“No.” she frowned. “No, I think it was good.”

“Look, cupcake. Even if it’s a good thing - he’s Nines Rodriguez, poster boy of the Anarchs doing the Kindred equivalent of kissing babies. Can you imagine how many Kindred he knows, how many he meets? You think he’s going to remember _kine_?” Bertram cackled. “No, let’s make it fair - okay, your mortal form was something memorable. Even if he remembers you, do you think he’ll recognise you? Do you look anything like you did before? Can you even remember what you looked like?”

Mary found herself blinking more than usual, stung. “No.” she replied quietly.

Bertram shook his head. “Listen fledgling, the sooner you ditch everything from your human life the better. It’ll drive you crazier than the Voerman twins if you don’t. You’re dead. You’re Nosferatu. It doesn’t matter now - you’ve got a new life to live.”

Being ‘crazy’ as the Voerman twins didn’t sound so bad, given that Jeanette and Therese had plans to wind the Camarilla around their finger. The hypocrisy of such a phrase coming from Bertram of all people raised her temper. “You seem to like Jeanette well enough.”

It caught him off guard - a snarl momentarily flashed across his features. “Low blow, fledgling.”

The reaction did the opposite of what he’d intended - the moment of defensiveness spoke volumes. Mary tilted her head. “So you’re not just using her.”

“You know what it’s like. You look like this, you’ll take what you can get. The fact that she’s shacked up with me should say enough about her mental state, alright? It’s not that serious.”

Mary had found a sensitive spot, and she wanted to needle at it as he’d stung her. “She said you were kind to her. Mercurio told me we Kindred don’t do the whole shacking up thing. What’s different?”

Bertram was, for once, at a loss for words. He gestured helplessly with his hands. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“I’m not going to laugh.” Mary replied. “I’m just… curious.”

“What’s different is that she gives a shit.” Bertram finally admitted. “Don’t listen to me, fledgling - I’m not a role model. Usually this sort of thing will get you killed. You can’t trust anyone.”

“But you trust Jeanette.”

Bertram narrowed his eyes. “Maybe.”

“Is it so bad that I want to trust Nines?” Mary asked, prompting a scoff from Bertram.

“Jeanette doesn’t have an agenda. Well, an agenda beyond annoying her sister and keeping herself entertained. Nines is the leader of the Anarchs - he wants power, there’s no other reason he’d take the job. That’s dangerous. I mean it, cupcake. Watch that spikey little back of yours, or you’ll get your spine torn out if they don’t attach strings to it first.”

Andrei had said the Camarilla had wanted to attach strings to her - Mary found it somewhat ironic a dutiful member of the Camarilla said the same of the Anarchs. After her talk with Beckett, it left her feeling strangely powerful rather than terrified - they weren’t trying to pull her limb from limb. They were trying to get her on their team. She was _wanted_.

For what purpose, she had no idea. Discarding Bertram’s warning entirely wasn’t possible - she didn’t know why Nines acted the way he had and wouldn’t be able to guess at his motives until she met the man. The idea that he might be dangerous unnerved her, if only because it felt so wrong. Why she felt so adamant about it was alien to her.

Mary must have been silent for too long, because Bertram cast a look at her oven clock. “It’s getting late. I’ve got places to be.” He rolled out of her bed with a slight groan, his joints cracking.

She took a slight amount of pride in how frazzled she’d made him. “Hope you enjoyed the visit.”

“Remember - if you try to start shit, I know where you live.” He scowled at her - but there was still a trace of pride in his gaze. For the first time Mary felt like she was part of the clan.

“Say hi to Knox for me.” she replied with a sweet smile. Bertram grumbled and left her apartment, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Mary checked her email - the Prince had already sent her a message with an address and instructions to meet him downtown. She’d be free of Santa Monica soon enough. She found she’d miss the beach.

As she settled into her bed for the morning (it smelled vaguely like Bertram to her dismay, oil and compost) she supposed the night had gone fairly smoothly after all.

Maybe things were looking up.


	7. Interlude I

Mary was on the hunt for some new clothes the following night, intent on looking something close to presentable when she finally made it to the Last Round. What little scraps remained of her modesty had her reluctant to make a first impression wearing nothing but a sports bra and cargo pants - and she couldn’t pretend like she hadn’t noticed the way her exposed skin disgusted those unfortunate enough to see it.

Like a gopher she poked her head out of manhole covers, peeking around for clothing stores. It was still early enough in the evening for some boutiques to be open - she made note of their location to double back later if she had no luck. It was when she’d peeked out from the sewer for the fifth time that her phone began to ring - still lodged in her pockets.

Her claws scratched at her pants as she struggled to fish the flip-phone out - she was still clumsy with them. Thankfully enough she managed to answer it before it went to voicemail, and a familiar voice sounded from the other end.

“Fledgling. I’ve tried to call thrice already.”

Sebastian LaCroix. Mary shrunk back down the ladder, as if he could see her. “I’m sorry, I’ve been running through the sewers.”

“I surmised as much.” Even the crackle of the phone signal couldn’t detract from the smooth tones of his voice. “I saw your handiwork on the news.”

So had she - the billowing pillar of smoke wasn’t enough to make the main story for the night, but the local station had lovingly filmed the carnage left behind. Mary struggled to find the right response - she wanted to ask if she was free to go, free to live her own unlife, but she wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Mercurio’s remark on her making a habit of saying the wrong thing had her cautious. “How’d I do?” she finally said, lamely.

“Excellently.” LaCroix replied. “Which is why I’m entrusting you with a sensitive task.”

Mary nearly dropped her phone. “I thought-”

“You are part of the Camarilla.” he interrupted. ”As such, the job I’m giving you is an honor. Many others would be glad for the opportunity. Perform to my specifications and you will be rewarded.” LaCroix’s tone was cold, and the chuckle he gave just as icy. “I don’t intend to make a slave of you, Mary.”

The use of her name felt wrong. “If others would be happy for the opportunity, why me?”

“You are in a… unique situation.” It was all the information LaCroix seemed willing to give. “There is a ship anchored a few miles offshore, the Elizabeth Dane. It was carrying cargo that has the local Kindred in an uproar - superstition, you understand - an artifact called the Ankaran Sarcophagus. It was recently attacked, the entire crew slaughtered. I suspect it has something to do with superstition. I want you to board the ship, obtain the cargo manifest and police report, and see if the sarcophagus has been tampered with.”

Prowling a ghost ship _seemed_ easy enough. “What’s the catch?”

“It’s the subject of a police investigation - an entire division of the LAPD has been dispatched, not to mention the Coast Guard. You cannot be seen, and unlike the warehouse you _cannot_ wholesale slaughter a ship full of lawmen without consequences. Given your clan, this should be child’s play. Do this successfully, and you’ll be compensated.”

Part of Mary wondered if her clan was the very reason he was giving her the task over the phone - it’d save him from having to look at her. Compensation wasn’t something she could turn down, and earning the Prince’s favor could benefit her further down the road. Not to mention she was fairly certain she didn’t really have much choice in the matter. “... okay. Do I just swim there-”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” LaCroix interrupted. “Mercurio has a boat waiting for you by the Pier. When you’ve completed your task, return to me downtown. Venture Tower, penthouse level - it’s the tallest building there, difficult to miss -” He caught himself. “- but you, of course, will be entering through the sewers. The exit is labelled and leads directly into the basement. Take the elevator. Do not enter the lobby.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a bad idea.” she murmured. “Got it.”

“Good. You’ve impressed me so far - you have excelled for one in your… position. _Adieu_.”

Mary stared at her flip phone for a few moments after the Prince hung up before stuffing it back into her pocket with a grumble, uncertain if she’d just been insulted. She started back down the ladder to the sewers.

Shopping would have to wait another day.

\--

Nines’ night had begun the same as all the others had the past few weeks - with violence. It wasn’t some upstart young Cammy or a Sabbat shovelhead whose blood he’d had to splatter against the asphalt this time.

It was human. Some poor kids who thought they’d have an easy time mugging him, holding their glocks to the side like in the movies and too dumb to take an exit when it was offered. They’d shot him and signed their death warrant, eyes wide with fright when a bullet to the heart didn’t phase him.

He made it quick. It was all he could do.

The rain washed their blood down the sidewalk.

There were flecks of it on his shirt when he walked into the Last Round. It was empty of humans, officially closed for the night. Damsel was leaning against the bar with her arms crossed, attention focused on the bar’s tiny TV. The evening news was on it, recounting stories from earlier in the day - the newscaster’s face was grim before the channel cut to footage of a warehouse on fire.

“Hey Nines.” Damsel greeted, her expression sour as ever. “Heard rumors that place was a Sabbat operation. Probably Cammies.” She spit.

Nines would say the Camarilla had done them a favor, if the Sabbat weren’t oddly quiet lately. The warehouse’s destruction was likely to spawn a new rash of violence in revenge. He could feel exhaustion creeping over him in advance. “Anything else happen?”

“Jack’s back.” Damsel replied, tone growing more hushed - reverent. “He’s upstairs playing darts.”

Smiling Jack was a legend among the Anarchs - wherever he showed up chaos followed in his wake. Whatever his plans he wasn’t intent on letting Nines in on them. It was probably for the best - Jack’s activities tended to involve casualties and upheaval. Nines didn’t want to get caught in the backblast.

It didn’t stop him from being eager to speak with the man, however - not after he was spotted with LA’s newest Nosferatu shortly after the trial.

“Thanks, Damsel.” he replied belatedly, recalling his manners even if Damsel didn’t care for them. She grunted and let him pass her to get to the stairs.

The Nosferatu girl. Standing up for her had managed to frighten even Skelter, and he knew it had more than a few Kindred questioning his sanity. Her appearance didn’t elicit much sympathy. While she wasn’t as monstrous as her sire, who seemed to radiate menace even when his head was rolling across the stage, she was every bit as inhuman as the rest of her clan. But there was something in her eyes when she saw her Sire die - a fire in her as she struggled against her bonds even as the audience laughed. He saw himself in her, knew her pain - but where he’d been granted freedom she was condemned to death for a sin she didn’t commit. Over the decades of his unlife Nines had learned to keep his inner beast collared, but in that moment his temper had surged beyond all chains.

At least the play worked, even though LaCroix enacted his vengeance by taking the girl under his wing. No doubt he’d seen her as a valuable asset - a Nosferatu without clan, owing the Camarilla her life. The hypocrisy of it sparked his temper.

“Having a bad night?” Jack’s voice called from the other side of the room as Nines crested the stairs. “You’re stomping up those bad boys.” True to Damsel’s word, he was tossing darts at a board - he’d already managed to split one in two.

“Nah.” Nines shrugged, leaning against one of the nearby tables and watching Jack take aim. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Jack smirked. “I’m sure you have. Let me guess - the nasty little pincushion.”

Pincushion wasn’t the term Nines would use to describe the fledgling, though the spikes he’d seen sticking out of her shoulder were certainly unique enough to be memorable. “That’s the one. What do you know about her? She have anything to say?”

“Her name’s Mary, but I doubt anyone’s lighting any candles for her.” Jack replied, pausing to line up his shot.

Nines was thankful his focus was on throwing another dart, for he missed the subtle flinch the name caused. He’d known a Mary once - a spark of light in the sea of darkness, a _human_. Somehow he’d found a friend in her - _maybe more,_ his mind still whispered. He hadn’t seen her in months, he’d all but ghosted her in an attempt to keep her safe. They were worlds apart - and yet her memory still hung sharp in his mind.

Jack threw the dart - it hit the center of the board violently. “Told her she should call herself Briar Mary, given the whole shoulder situation. It doesn’t hurt to have a name to remember.” He winked at Nines. “Rugrat’s got a bleeding heart but she knew her way around a lock. She was pretty interested in you, but that figures. D’you guys have any Red Nosferatu in LA?”

Red Nosferatu - the name for the rare member of the clan who’d declared for the Anarchs. “I don’t know any personally.” Nines replied.

“We might be popping a cherry.” Jack snickered. “I know people have been talking about her, but she’s not the antichrist or any of that bullshit. Just a fledgling. Smart enough, but that soft spot’s going to get her killed. Just like a newborn baby, you just have to jam your thumb in.” Nines wrinkled his nose a little at the thought. Jack continued. “Anyway - LaCroix sent her to Santa Monica, and thanks to yours truly, she made it.”

Nines raised a brow. “You want a medal?” he asked, earning a hearty cackle from Jack. “If he’s sent her to Santa Monica he’s probably sending her that cargo ship. You think he buys into the rumors?”

“Look at you, proving the stereotypes wrong.” Jack smirked. “Brujah with a brain, I love to see it. Just so happens that a little birdie told me a boat left the Santa Monica pier tonight. As for that old coffin? You know the Camarilla freak out if anyone brings up the methusulahs. LaCroix’s probably looking for ways to shut everyone up - throw the kid at it, see if great-great-great grandpa pops out and eats her.”

While he maintained his aloof posture, internally Nines’ interest was piqued - the night was young, and a sweep of a ship wouldn’t take long. “You think she’s reporting back to LaCroix after?”

“It’ll be sensitive information.” Jack whistled. “Not the type of thing you can talk about over the phone.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. “You know, the sewers from Santa Monica don’t directly connect to downtown. There’s a stretch you’ve gotta walk above ground, runs past the storage yards on the north side - the ones near that old brewery.”

“I know the one.” It was a quiet part of town, isolated enough that it was no surprise if Nosferatu were scurrying through it between sewer entrances. Nines frowned - isolated enough for an ambush. If anyone else had jumped to the same conclusions he had and the kid had seen the sarcophagus…

He couldn’t help but feel a little responsibility for the kid. It’d be a waste if he’d stood up for her just for her to be ashed thanks to LaCroix’s plans - and maybe he was a little inclined to help on the basis of her name alone. It’d be tight timing. His schedule for the night was filled with following up on information regarding San Francisco - the former Anarch stronghold that had fallen to the Kuei-Jin and went turncoat for the Camarilla.

While Nines was pretty sure Jack couldn’t read minds, he had a knack for guessing what others were thinking. “Say hi to her for me.” he winked. “Don’t fuck it up. Red Nosferatu are always a scream.”

“I’ll try not to.” Nines muttered. As soon as he’d arrived, he was heading for the door - passing by the TV as the newscaster talked about flooding brought on by the unprecedented deluge LA was subject to the past several days. Damsel nodded at him as he walked by her and out the door.

If there was a God - and Nines hadn’t entirely discounted the possibility - he had a sick sense of humor. As he swung his leg over the seat of his motorcycle, he wondered if he’d ever forget the human he used to know.

Nines drowned out the thought with the sound of his motorcycle’s engine, peeling off for the nearest freeway.

\--

Andrei walked through the catacombs, his robe trailing behind him over the blood soaked stone. The Creeps were always an annoyance to discover, hiding in the nooks and crannies one would least expect. Thankfully the eyeless one he searched for was easy enough to find, perched in a stone alcove with one of the strange glowing machines in their lap, a cord trailing from it into their ear. Modern technology - the tools of kine were beneath him, but they had their uses.

“Archbishop.” The eyeless one bowed their head. “You’ve returned. My apologies, I would have come to you if I’d known-”

“What have you learned?” he interrupted - the matter he had approached the eyeless one about was of the utmost importance.

“The Childe’s been sent after the sarcophagus - one of my clan saw her leaving by boat. We… also have reason to believe she’s behind the death of Bishop Elijah. He was overseeing the warehouse when it was destroyed.” The eyeless one spoke slowly - Andrei could smell the fear on them.

Elijah - a Setite funnelling all sorts of vices out of his warehouse and pulling new servants into the great crusade. His loss would be keenly felt, much blood shed in filling the ensuing power vacuum. “Then she has allowed herself to be made a puppet. Send a pack after her - I will not let such potency go to those dogs. Bring her back alive and give her the _vaulderie_.” Perhaps in time she’d replace the Bishop she’d killed.

The eyeless one shut the glowing box on their lap as if it was a book and tucked it under their arm. “I’ll call the hunt. The disciples are eager.”

Andrei smiled. “Their patience will be rewarded. I return to my workshop. The _vozhd_ are ready to be unleashed.”

He could drink the fear flowing from the eyeless one as they scurried back into the dark.

\--

LaCroix was right - the Elizabeth Dane was a relative breeze for Mary. With a little creativity she’d managed to distract the officers long enough to nab the police report, and breaking into the ship database in order to download the cargo manifest let her revisit her cracking skills. Typing with claws was starting to become familiar, though typing _quickly_ with claws was a unique challenge - she’d nearly been spotted by the presiding officer returning from his coffee break.

Still, she managed success, getting a peek at the sarcophagus while she was at it. Mary didn’t linger long in front of it even with the reassuring blanket of shadows in front of her - its carvings depicted children being eaten, and combined with the frankly obscene amount of blood sprayed around it and the cargo container it sat in being peeled open like a tin can she wasn’t intent on sticking around too long.

Mary felt incredibly pleased with herself as she steered the boat back to shore, enjoying the feeling of sea spray on her face. She did the job spectacularly, if she said so herself - there was no way LaCroix wouldn’t let her off the hook.

The thin bloods were clustered under the pier when she returned, whispering among themselves. E was arguing with the others - as she cut the boat engine she heard something about leaving from the darked haired man of the group.

“And go where?” E replied. “Any city we stop at on the way east wants us dead.”

“We could steal an RV and block out the windows.” The dark haired man replied. “We can ride out daylight on the highway. Come on, man - Lily’s not coming back.”

“His namesake was freed.” Rosa murmured. “Yet he is imprisoned. The flower wilts to see him.”

“You’re freaking Rosa out.” The dark haired man continued. “This place isn’t good for her - can’t you feel it? Some major shit’s about to go down.”

Mary waded through the surf to approach the group - E perked up when he saw her, a glimmer of hope on his features. “Oi! I didn’t think you’d come back. You hear anything?”

“I was here earlier.” she shrugged. “I axed the killer and looked through his phone. He mentioned attacking the Blood Bank.”

E’s face fell, and she continued before he could look any more heartbroken. “I think she’s alive. I think the people he worked for took her.”

Though he no longer breathed he exhaled deeply - a genuine smile lingering on his features for once. “That’s better than I could have hoped for. You have any idea where?”

Mary winced. “No.” she admitted. “But I’m going to try and find out.”

Rosa squeezed her eyes shut, looking pained. “The fire will burn your body and your heart.”

The dark haired thin-blood scowled, her information clearly putting a wrench in his plans. “See what I mean? It’s a long shot, man. I don’t want to stick around here.”

E returned the other man’s scowl. “Give the girl a chance.” His smile returned quickly enough. “Your blood’s worth bottlin’, mate. I’m not going anywhere. If you need anything-”

Mary waved her hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it.” She peered at Rosa. “Is she… is she going to be okay?”

Rosa opened her eyes. “Forget what I say.” she repeated the same words she had their last meeting. “It’s not this place that makes me see, it’s you. Don’t ask me for more, I can’t make them come.”

“If you say so.” Mary rubbed her arm. “I’ve got to do some stuff downtown, so you probably won’t see me around here for a while. Stay safe out here, okay?”

“Now I’ve got something to look forward to.” E beamed at her. “You too.”

Hopefully LaCroix would have a lead for her. Mary walked up to the parking garage by the beach and lifted up a grate within, dropping back down into the sewers.

Downtown awaited - and so did answers.

The light within the sewers dimmed the further she drew from Santa Monica, the connecting tunnels dark. Mary squinted down at the map Bertram had given her - it said she’d have to move above ground for a few blocks, and sure enough the tunnel she had been walking down for what felt like miles came to an end. The dead end had a ladder at least, illuminated by light peeking through the holes in the manhole cover above. Mary folded the map and tucked it back into her pocket before climbing out.

Her surroundings weren’t what she expected. She exited onto a barren street, flanked on each side by storage yards filled with lumber and other construction supplies. The street lamps bathed her surroundings in a dim orange glow - there was a soft sort of tranquility about it. In the distance she could hear traffic, but otherwise the only sound was rain droplets falling against the pavement.

Mary walked down the street at a leisurely pace, enjoying the isolation. She hadn’t really been able to take her time since her life had been turned upside down - it was nice to enjoy a quiet nighttime walk. For once she was able to think - to contemplate what she’d do once LaCroix let her go to do whatever she pleased. A trip to the Last Round was necessary of course, but after she got the answers she wanted? She was functionally immortal and could turn invisible. The world was her oyster. Beckett had said he was a scholar - maybe she’d travel and learn what she could about the history of Kindred. There were so many places she wanted to go - she could see New York in all its danger, take a picture of herself in Times Square to send to Mercurio. That was a good start.

She was wondering just how long distance travel worked among the unliving when she passed an alleyway. Footsteps sounded from behind her, and Mary turned just in time to see a nailboard swing into her skull.

It knocked her senseless. Her ears rang and she saw stars, stumbling blindly forward. Something collided with her gut and sent her reeling back into a knife blade - she felt it slide between her ribs.

“You think you could be a Camarilla puppet, lick?” One of the men taunted. “You’ll see the cost of crossing the Sabbat.”

Mary lashed out blindly - she felt her claws connect with flesh and her vision cleared enough to see her attackers. The man in front of her was large and bestial with red eyes, tufts of fur growing out of his skin. His fist collided with her nose and she spun to see the other two men - the one holding the knife was thin, an artificial smile slashed into his mouth. The one with the nailboard wore a black hoodie stained with blood. He swung it at her - this time she managed to catch it in her hands. The hooded man tried to pull it back, and she took advantage of his grip to throw him and the nailboard to the side.

They were easier to fight than the ghoul killer, but they outnumbered her. The bestial man grabbed one of her shoulder spikes and dragged her to the ground, snapping it off once she collided with the pavement. It caused intense waves of pain to ripple through her body - she couldn’t see or hear. The men were jeering at her, landing vicious kicks to her torso and ribs. Mary curled into the fetal position and held her arms over her head in an attempt to shield herself, but one of them managed to slam a steel toed boot into her jaw. She bit off the tip of her tongue and her own blood flooded her mouth. She spit it across the pavement and grabbed the man’s foot. Mary sank her teeth into it and earned another kick to the face for her trouble.

There was a roaring in the distance.

The man with the knife knelt beside her, tracing his knife’s blade along her face. “You think the Archbishop will mind if we have a little fun?”

“We’ve been inside for weeks.” The hooded man returned, punctuating it with another kick to her ribs when he caught Mary trying to push herself upright. “He won’t mind if we soften it up.”

The roaring grew louder. The bestial man looked up at the road, his face illuminated by approaching headlights. “ _Fuck._ ” he snarled.

“What-” The man with the knife began to say, before a bullet blew through his jaw and turned all remaining speech into a gurgle. Like Mary, blood flooded his mouth and dribbled down his chin. It drew his attention away from her, to her immense relief.

“Leave.” The voice was familiar. Mary weakly wiped the blood from her eyes and lifted her head to see her would-be savior.

Nines Rodriguez.

“There’s three of us, Rodriguez.” The bestial man barked while his companion held his bleeding jaw and howled.

“Five shots won’t kill us.” The hooded man added.

Nines unclipped something from his belt. To her horror Mary realized it was a grenade. The Sabbat were clustered around her - she’d be collateral damage. She tried to get to her feet again, but the bestial man slammed his foot down on her spine and pinned her to the ground.

It earned him a bullet to the eye - it snapped whatever thin thread of restraint he had. He lunged at Nines, and received a blade in his chest in return.

“Good effort.” Nines tilted his head, twisting the blade and pulling it upward. The man crumbled to ashes around it. “Execution needs a little work.”

The hooded man seemed to have the brain cells in the situation, looking between his companion’s ruined jaw and the ashes washed away in the rain. “This isn’t over.” he hissed, in a last ditch effort to retain some menace. “No one-”

“Keep moving.” Nines said cooly, sweeping his gun down the street like he was directing traffic. Mary realized the roaring noise was a motorcycle idling behind him. She was becoming a little more aware as her more superficial wounds knitted themselves together. Blood still dribbled out of her mouth - speech was impossible.

Like cockroaches the two remaining assailants scattered. Mary reached out for a nearby street light and used it to drag herself up into a sitting position. Her snapped shoulder spike still radiated pain.

Nines kept a look out until he was certain they were left alone. “Trouble sure seems to like you.” he drawled, his lips curled into a smile. It was a sharp contrast to the fury written on his features back in the theatre - the smile brought back the nagging feeling at the back of her mind. She knew him - she was certain of it.

Up close he was devastatingly handsome in a rugged sort of way, cheekbones sharp enough she felt like she’d cut herself on them, clear eyes nearly shining in the dark. Mary would blush if she could - she felt disgusting in comparison, the mottled expanse of her torso on display and blooming with bruises and welts, drooling blood out of her mouth down her chest.

She tried to offer a reply, but it came out as a gurgle.

He approached her and knelt down, his smirk softening into an empathetic smile. It brought back the odd tight feeling in her chest. “You look like shit.” Nines said as he extended his hand to her.

Mary looked up at him questioningly, but slipped her hand into his. His palm was rough and calloused, the hand of a man who’d done hard labour in his time. Nines stood and hoisted her to her feet with him.

“Name’s Nines.” he introduced himself - she wanted to tell him that she _knew_ , that she _knew him_ , and that something about him was terribly familiar and finding out what had kept her pushing onward. “You okay?”

Helplessly she gestured at her mouth, opening it so he could see the terrible state it was in.

“Thought you just weren’t much of a talker.” Nines patted her on the shoulder that didn’t have spikes erupting out of it - she was amazed someone like him could bear to touch her. “Should’ve been more careful - you gotta keep your eyes open up here. You should get back to the sewers.”

Though she was mute she was certainly capable of scowling - Mary gathered up all her frustration at the situation, turned her embarrassment to anger and shot him a look filled with as much venom as she could muster.

He chuckled, amused by it - though not in a patronizing way. It seemed like he appreciated her anger. The smile faded quickly, however - and something about how easily his expression returned to one of resigned exhaustion felt wrong. “I didn’t know if I’d get here in time - you’re lucky I did. I wanted to have a chat, but…” Nines gestured at the blood dribbling out of the corner of her mouth. “... that’s going to have to wait. I’ve got some things to do tonight, but stop in at the Last Round later. I don’t know what LaCroix’s told you, but it’s time you learned what’s really going down in LA.”

Mary nodded emphatically, trying to get her eagerness across. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting - confusion tinted his expression.

“Didn’t think you’d be so eager. How bad’s LaCroix been treating you?”

She shrugged, tilting her head from side to side noncommittally. Mary couldn’t exactly complain, though she was eager to be let off the leash.

Nines holstered his pistol and started walking down the street, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll walk you to the next way down.”

Mary followed close behind him, watching rain droplets course down his skin. He was dressed similarly to the way he was at the theatre - he seemed to be fond of blue, and she had to agree it flattered him. Internally she chastised herself - she should be more suspicious. Bertram felt it necessary to warn her. Nines wanted to give her his side of the story, that was evident enough - and so had Andrei, whose goons she figured had just beaten the snot out of her. The timing of his arrival was terribly convenient.

Still she couldn’t stop herself from studying him, as if his appearance would grant her memory any clues. Mary found nothing until he at last stopped by a manhole cover and turned to look back at her - his necklace caught the light. It was an old coin - it looked like something from the Mayan empire, something that belonged in a museum. It hung on a simple chain around his neck, and she realized she’d seen it before, in dimmer lighting. His eyes were softer then. When she looked back up at his face she realized that the Nines looking down on her was hollower than the one she recalled. Something had changed him.

Or did she ever know him at all?

“Here’s your stop.” He said, leaning over to tug the cover off for her. It was chivalric, in a sickly comical way. Leading the lady to her sewer, none the wiser as to the tempest of questions in her mind. Like Bertram said - there was no way he could recognize her. Why would he? She was too hideous for study.

Mary tried to say thanks, if nothing else - but the only noise that came out was an awkward “Ahng.”

“Munch on a couple rats while you’re down there.” Nines advised. “See you in a couple hours.”

She climbed down the ladder, and before he dragged the cover back over she caught a hint of concern in his eyes.


	8. Downtown II

Feeding on rats wasn’t something Mary was fond of - even in life she’d found them endearing in their own little way, and in her new form she couldn’t help but feel some sort of kinship with them.

However, she had a mouth full of broken teeth and a rib poking out through her chest. It made things a little easier.

By the time she’d made it to the better maintained sewers beneath downtown LA she still looked a wreck, but at least her teeth and tongue had regrown - a distinctly unpleasant sensation. Sometimes she’d catch her reflection in the water (there was plenty of it, given all the rainfall) and wince. It wasn’t how she wanted to look in her first proper meeting with Nines, and it was definitely not how she wanted to look when reporting back to LaCroix. Maybe he’d take pity on her, at least - he’d see that she was having difficulty and let her off the hook. Mary was greener than green, perhaps the single silver lining to the ass kicking she’d received would be freedom to do as she pleased. First of her priorities was learning. Gathering information about the world she found herself in via scraps of whatever her fellow Kindred felt like telling her wasn’t her favorite way to form a worldview.

The map Bertram had given her had a little crown sketched over the sewer entrance to Ventrue tower. Mary wondered if LaCroix had his own throne as she crawled into the narrow access tunnel that led to the building’s basement. It was splattered with dried blood and dirty handprints, the bottom of it well-worn from all the traffic. How many other Nosferatu had come through before her? How many would follow?

Crawling out into a stuffy and musty storage room, she cast a quick glance around her surroundings before lifting her body out of the access tunnel entirely. The walls were unpainted cinder blocks, lined with metal shelves host to empty cardboard boxes. Someone had carved ‘suckhead’ into one of the blocks at eye level, above the call button for an elevator next to it. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling, casting dim yellow light into the room, and stairs at the far side must have led up to the main level. It was chilly and damp, and she was desperately curious as to what the main lobby looked like. Instead Mary swallowed her curiosity and hit the call button - the doors to the elevator opened instantaneously and were enough to startle her. Flinching pulled at her wounds, radiating a dull ache and pulling a quiet whine from her throat. As she stepped into the elevator she tried not to think about what a pathetic sight she must have made.

The elevator interior was elegant marble tile contrasted against stainless steel walls. A sea of buttons for two dozen floors greeted her, but she remembered LaCroix’s instructions and pressed the topmost button that read ‘PH’ with her thumb. It left a little smudge of filth behind. The elevator doors closed and it began a smooth ascent - Mary did her best not to touch anything else. Did Kindred have janitors? Was it her fate if she performed poorly enough? Cleaning elevator buttons and sweeping up dirt seemed lovely in comparison to getting her teeth kicked in.

Mary’s ears popped as the digital floor counter rose higher and higher. It ignited her curiosity again - she wanted to see Venture Tower from the street to see just how high it rose from ground level. Maybe she’d be able to spot it in the city skyline the few times she was able to explore aboveground. Before she could put too much thought into it the elevator doors slid open, revealing a lobby that seemed straight out of the palace of Versailles. Notes from a piano drifted to her ears.

Marble met her feet as she stepped out into the lobby. The walls were painted black, with elegant art nouveau designs inlaid in silver. Straight ahead at the lobby’s far wall were double doors in white, a stark and pure contrast against the walls. To the right of them was a grand piano, a woman with long dark hair playing a dreamy concerto. To the left was a massive mahogany desk staffed by an elegantly dressed man with red hair. He was a ghoul - Mary could hear his heartbeat hasten as she approached the desk, and he leaned back in his chair in a vain attempt at putting distance between them.

“I’m here to see the Prince.” she said, trying to sound as confident as she could. The lobby was probably the nicest room she’d ever been in, and every footstep left a dirty imprint on the polished marble. Mary had the oddest urge to touch everything she could, to smear her hands across the masterwork desk she stood in front of. The urge only intensified when, upon finding her name written in an appointment book, the ghoul threw away any pretense at manners and let his disgust at her appearance show plainly on his face. 

“One moment.” The ghoul leaned over toward the intercom and pressed one of its buttons. “Sir. The Nosferatu fledgling is here.”

Mary made a point of laying her hands onto the tabletop, relishing the moment of panic it drew on the ghoul’s expression. When she withdrew them her handprints marred the surface, her own bit of vandalism. Bertram might have told her to be polite, but what harm could such a small act of rebellion do? 

Then she thought of how it might reflect on the ghoul secretary - maybe she wouldn’t be punished, but he might. Was it worth such petty revenge for what was a reaction given to her by the vast majority of society? It made her withered stomach twist a little with guilt - it wasn’t her place to punish anyone for a human reflex.

“Send her in.” LaCroix’s voice at least sounded relaxed, which bolstered her hopes. If he was in a good mood things might bode well for her.

The ghoul tilted his head to the double doors. Mary tried to smile politely even though it only drew a wince from him. “Thanks.”

Her hands left a black stain on the golden doorknob as she turned it and entered a room that put the lobby to shame.

LaCroix’s office was warm where the lobby was cold - white walls and gold inlay, polished oak parquet floors. Magnificent artwork in gilded frames hung from the walls. Close to the door armchairs were arranged around a massive fireplace, end tables host to thick hardcover novels that had to be at least three times as old as she was. Her attention couldn’t linger long on the furniture, however, for straight ahead Prince LaCroix sat at an elegantly simple white desk, his attention directed at something on its surface. He was flanked by the massive bulk of his Sherriff and backlit by windows that stretched to the ceiling. The moon shone brightly through them, haloing the Prince, and at their base the lights of Los Angeles stretched onward. It was an office fit for royalty, something from a bygone age.

“Feel free to close the door behind you.” LaCroix called over. Mary did so, muffling the music from the lobby beyond. When he finally lifted his gaze from whatever at the desk had him so occupied he visibly flinched at the sight of her. “Good lord.”

Yes, things were off to a very bad start. Mary stopped six feet away from the desk, remembering how the Prince had kept his distance from her at the theatre. She didn’t want to try his patience. “I-”

“Do you not know how to feed? I appreciate your haste in reporting to me, however -” LaCroix swallowed - she wondered if he’d thrown up in his mouth. “- your appearance is distracting enough at the best of times.” Clicking his tongue, he turned to the intercom on his own desk. “Beaumont, bring the fledgling a drink.”

“Yes, sir.” The ghoul secretary - Beaumont - replied. Mary stood still, feeling awkward and out of place - she clasped her hands behind her back and nervously rubbed at her thumbs.

“Now then.” LaCroix laced his hands together, leaning forward in his chair. “We received the cargo manifest and police report. What of the sarcophagus?”

Immediately to business - no questions asked as to why she’d shown up looking as if she’d been run over by a car. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little resentful. “It looked like a horror show.” she replied. “The container it was in was peeled open like a tin can.” She wondered if LaCroix would understand the metaphor - he didn’t look like a man who’d ever eaten anything out of a can. “And there was a lot of blood - it was a sea of those little yellow crime scene cards. It really had the cops spooked.”

“I’m sure it did.” LaCroix lifted his hands, tapping his index fingers thoughtfully against his lips. 

Mary jolted, remembering the ghoul killer’s cell phone in her back pocket. She fished it out and approached LaCroix’s desk - she saw the Sheriff’s eyes turn to fix on her. The massive man tensed, then relaxed when he saw she merely held out a phone and placed it on LaCroix’s desk. “I almost forgot. I helped Therese Voerman out with a ghoul killer - he was one of those eastern vampires. There’s some texts on his phone about taking over the city. Um. I thought you’d like to know.”

LaCroix looked intrigued. “I appreciate someone who takes initiative. While the Camarilla honors the truce first made by the Anarchs, that doesn’t mean we can’t be aware of the activities of our eastern brethren.”

The Prince still wrinkled his nose when he looked at her. She couldn’t help herself - she needed to have him in the best mood possible if she had any hope of getting let off the hook. “Look, I’m sorry I look so bad. I got jumped by some guys who said they were with the Sabbat on my way here. Is that going to be something that happens a lot, or-”

She was cut off by the door opening behind her. Beaumont walked in, holding a silver tray. On it was a crystal carafe full of dark crimson liquid, and a crystal glass of similar design. He paused next to Mary and poured the liquid into the glass, lowering his head politely as he held it out to her. 

“Dismissed.” LaCroix addressed Beaumont as soon as Mary took the glass into her hands. 

The scent wafting up from it was blood, true enough - but there was a note of spices to it that had her curious. She took a small sip - the blood was richer than what she’d ever tasted of humans, but lacked the thickness of vitae. The spices warmed her from within, and it left an aftertaste of berries. It took much of her willpower to keep from downing the entire glass in one instant - she paced herself by willing it to bind her wounds.

It seemed to please LaCroix, if only for sparing his eyes from looking at her in such a state. “The Sabbat are a superstitious lot that cannibalize themselves as often as they inconvenience the rest of us - as they preach doom and our ancestors coming to devour us they are content enough to do the devouring themselves. Hypocrites and psychopaths.”

Mary sipped at her glass as LaCroix continued - it seemed the subject of the Sabbat had touched a nerve. The Sheriff stood idly by his side, staring straight ahead - his presence was enough to chill her, and she wondered if Casimir’s blood still lingered on his blade. Despite LaCroix’s incensed tone, the Sheriff seemed unbothered. Perhaps it was a frequent occurrence. 

“No doubt they were enacting revenge for the warehouse.” LaCroix continued, his tone returning to its light and professional default. “My apologies. They’re a notoriously vengeful lot - but as you returned to me alive, I presume they’ve upheld their status as notoriously full of rabble. Shovelheads, indeed.”

She wondered what would have happened if the Sabbat had succeeded in whatever they had planned for her. Judging by LaCroix’s airy apologies, he’d shed no tears for her. There were only a few sips left in her glass, and she drained it to grant herself a little bit of courage. “Sir.” she began, gathering up every bit of politeness she had in her body. Time to make her play. “I appreciate the opportunities you’ve given me, but after the attack I don’t know if I’m experienced enough to continue providing work that’s up to the standards you deserve.”

Amusement flickered through LaCroix’s eyes, and it unsettled Mary. “Oh? You performed beyond my expectations on the Dane, with as much skill as those of your clan who’ve lingered for decades. Nary a peep on the police radio.” A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Indeed, I believe you could be a rising star in our organization. That attracts attention, and if you believe yourself too inexperienced to be a part of the Camarilla we will be unable to extend our protection to you. Independent Kindred are often quite old - a fledgling like yourself will face great difficulty in surviving without Camarilla support.”

It was a warning and perhaps a threat. Either way, the message didn’t escape Mary. If she tried to wrangle herself free, she’d need someone backing her up if she was to have any hope of survival. “Thank you, sir.”

“Perhaps if I tell you of the importance of your work you will see the breadth of your abilities.” LaCroix began. “Have you heard of the rumors surrounding the sarcophagus?”

Mary recalled the brief exchange she held with Beckett - unease in the city worth investigating. Was the sarcophagus part of it? Or was it all due to the Red Star that Andrei had spoken of? “I don’t think so.” she replied, as truthfully as she could answer.

“Superstitious fools believe an ancient slumbers within it, destined to awaken and devour us all. I don’t expect you to know the gravity of the matter, but know that if it is not taken into Camarilla custody as soon as possible the humans involved with its study and keeping are at incredible risk. I shudder to think of how severely the Sabbat will violate the Masquerade in obtaining it.” The prince’s eyes narrowed, studying her. Andrei had said the Camarilla was aware of her Sire’s ties to the Sabbat, and fear laced through her at the thought that LaCroix might suspect her. Was giving her such tasks his way of testing her loyalties? Perhaps her life itself was on the line. 

That wasn’t even considering the possibility of the Sabbat being correct. Casimir had told her her purpose was to help others survive the scourge of the ancients - if the sarcophagus held one such ancient…

Mary swallowed, looking up from her empty glass. “I… didn’t realize things were that dire.” she said, hoping her horror was obvious in her tone. After being subject to the Sabbat’s rage herself, she could only imagine the horrorshow that awaited whatever poor humans came between them and their goal - and if the Sabbat’s beliefs were right, even worse awaited the rest of the city. 

“I am glad to have illuminated you.” LaCroix’s expression softened into one of casual boredom. “I have a task for you while I wait for my contacts to discover the sarcophagus’ destination once it’s moved from the Dane. I’ve heard word from Mercurio that you’ve taken an interest in the Anarchs.” The panic that shot through her at the thought that Mercurio told LaCroix about _why_ she’d taken an interest in them must have shown, for LaCroix held up a hand in a motion to calm her. “As you should - they were once the keepers of this city and continue to be a constant thorn in the Camarilla’s side. Knowledge of them will be useful in keeping the rabble from throwing a tantrum. No doubt they’ve approached you already with claims of my tyranny and facism.” LaCroix rolled his eyes. “A childish overreaction to even the gentlest of guiding hands, spoken only by those who’ve never had a brush with true tyranny. They congregate in a pit of filth the humans like to call a dive bar - a place called The Last Round. Go there, speak with Rodriguez if he’s present. It’s best to know your opponent.”

Fear was replaced with excitement, though it also came with undercurrents of anxiety. Having an excuse for LaCroix in visiting The Last Round made her life much easier. “I’ll head over there.” she replied - best not to sound _too_ eager.

“One last matter, before you go.” 

Mary found that each request of LaCroix’s filled her with a strange sort of dread. “Yes, sir?”

“There’s a human woman lingering outside the building asking after you - she showed up shortly before you did.” LaCroix’s nose wrinkled. “She’s been promised a meeting from you to shut her up. Deal with the matter before she brings hunters down on us. I’ve had her escorted to the basement - you will meet her on your way out.”

A human woman? Mary struggled to think of who it could be - and didn’t much like LaCroix’s implication when it came to how to deal with her. “Of course.”

“I’ll contact you when the details of your next task are sorted. You’re dismissed.” LaCroix’s attention returned to whatever was upon his desk, and Mary walked back to the door. 

She set her empty glass on the desk of the secretary on her way out, and found her hand prints had been neatly wiped away.

The smudge she left on the elevator button remained, however. Mary stared at it as the elevator descended, a fleeting worry that perhaps a trap awaited her in the basement entering her mind. She didn’t recall being a paranoid person in life, but experience in the past several nights was fraying away at her ability to trust. 

When the elevator reached its destination and she stepped out into the basement, a cry of “It’s you!” from behind her had Mary whirl around with her claws at the ready. Instead of an assailant with a weapon, however, she caught sight of a familiar figure.

A red-haired girl with glasses and an innocent face - a girl Mary had last seen with glass piercing her abdomen. Now her cheeks had color to them, her eyes were gleaming and filled with life. Even though she’d screamed upon seeing the face of the one who’d saved her, Mary couldn’t help but feel relief to know she was alright. Her hair was soaking wet, droplets of water present on her glasses. How long had she stood out in the rain?

There were many questions that came to mind, but Mary settled for the one that had her uneasy. “How did you find me?” 

“I just knew.” The girl breathed. “It was like something was guiding me here, like… fate, or something. I don’t know.” She giggled nervously. “But I found you! You saved me, and I never knew your name - I’m sorry, I should have known you wouldn’t hurt me. I’m Heather. I wanted to thank you.”

Jack had told her blood bonds took three feedings - had he lied to her? It filled Mary with unease. “Well, um. You’re welcome, Heather. You really shouldn’t have come-”

“I wanted to! I had to see you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I owe you my life, I want to repay you. I’m a fashion major, I can figure out a way to help you blend in. O-or if you don’t care about that, I can do other things too. I just want to be near you.” Heather’s tone was desperate, and if Mary still had hair on the back of her neck it’d be standing on end. 

“Thanks is enough, Heather. Really. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t even be talking to me." Mary's mind raced, a small part of her longing to have a connection to the human world, to have someone who could look upon her without fear. But it wasn't right, it was all artificial - even genuine love didn't have such a desperate edge to it. Not that Mary had much experience with genuine love herself.

Heather's face fell. "Did I do something wrong? Is there something wrong with me?"

It was breaking Mary's heart. "No. God, no - you seem like a really sweet girl. You said you were a fashion major? Don't throw that away. You've got better things to do than follow someone like me around."

"Better things to do? You're… you're like magic. What in the world could be better than that?" Heather was adamant. "I want to be part of your world, I majored in fashion just to have _something_ to my name - but you… there's something greater, bigger than I could ever dream. I can feel it. Please, I'll do anything." She stepped forward and placed her hands on Mary's bare biceps - her skin was soft and warm, filling Mary with a sense of calm.

No. No, it was wrong. Heather screamed at her in fright when she was lucid back in Santa Monica - the woman in front of her was under the influence of a blood bond. "My world isn't greater. I get bossed around, I have to travel through the sewers, everyone's disgusted by me - the only reason you're not is because the blood's got you brainwashed.” It still wasn’t enough, the girl’s grip on Mary’s arms tightened, and she opened her mouth to protest. Mary cut across her. “Look, Heather - you want to make me happy? Go back out into the world and do something great. Become a fashion designer, take care of your grandma, be nice to the people you meet. I saved your life because I thought it was too early for you to go.” she swallowed. “Don’t waste it by hanging around me. I mean it.”

At last, she seemed to have broken through. Heather’s hands dropped from Mary’s arms, her eyes shone from being on the brink of tears. “What about you?”

“Forget about me. If you can’t, don’t tell anyone about me. There’s others like me that’ll kill you for it. I mean what I said when I said it’s dangerous to be near me. Go out there -” Mary pointed to the stairs leading up and out of the basement. “- and live.”

Heather took a few steps backward, staring at Mary as if she was intent on remembering the moment for the rest of her life. Mary thought there were better sights to keep in mind - she already had a lump of guilt settled in her throat from putting Heather in the situation to begin with. Still, she couldn’t regret it - Heather was alive, and if there was any justice in the world she’d continue to flourish and grow without her interference.

While Mary remained stagnant, frozen in time in a malformed shell.

With a final sharp intake of breath, Heather turned and sprinted up the stairs as if looking back would make it impossible to leave. Mary felt a wave of relief and grief wash over her when Heather shut the basement door behind her, and turned toward the sewer grate.

Back to the sewers. Mary gave herself some small consolation - at least she was finally going to The Last Round, a place that lingered in her cloudy memory. Her few fears were dispersed with LaCroix’s approval. At last, she was going to get answers. It made the lingering ache in her chest feel a little better.

Unlike Venture Tower’s access tunnel, the closest sewer exit to the pub was a lonely one and clearly rarely traveled. Mary wondered how many Nosferatu belonged to the Anarchs - judging by the state of the exit, not many. The ladder up was rusting more than the others, the rungs scraping against her palms as she clambered upward. A sense of anticipation tensed within her when she pressed her hands against the manhole cover and hoisted it upward.

The alley was familiar - she remembered passing by it, once upon a time. Mary hurried to her feet and jogged out of the alley with little concern for who might see her, too full of energy to bear creeping forward. Thankfully the street was a barren dead end, and Mary was allowed to take in the sight of The Last Round.

It was, as LaCroix said, a dive. The shutters were closed and water stained - the overabundance of rain wasn’t doing it any favors. The sound of cars rolling down the freeway above was a familiar soundtrack. Mary’s mouth went dry - she was frozen on the spot, rain trickling down her skin. It was like visiting a location from a dream, pulling unreality to life. She wiggled her fingers and bounced on her heels in an attempt to run out her nervous energy and get a hold of herself. Already she could remember what the interior looked like - a bar to the left, booths to the right, and stairs she’d rarely walked up. Mary didn’t know what she feared more - the inside of the bar being different, or exactly as she’d imagined.

Memories from human life were usually bad, Bertram had said. Why did she remember this place?

Any more time in the rain and what few clothes she was still wearing would be soaked through. First impressions would be rough enough. With her jitters somewhat dispelled, Mary reached for the door handle and felt echoes of the same motion rippling through time.

The bar was just as she remembered it.

It was barren like she expected for late night on a weekday. The music was as loud and aggressive as ever. It was dirtier than the pub she knew, though - a thin layer of grime had settled over everything. The deja vu was almost nauseating. Some muscle memory was pushing her to walk to the storeroom and grab a rag, and things started settling into place.

 _She’d worked there_. Scrubbing tables, battling the never ending onslaught of filth that just seemed to manifest regardless of how busy the place was. The bartender wasn’t anyone she recognized, but he didn’t pay her any mind despite her appearance. Relief settled over her, along with a hint of disappointment. Mary had just worked there - if it was the base of operations for the Anarchs, of course she’d recognize their leader. It was just an odd window of clarity that offered a view of the mundane.

It made walking further into the bar easier if no less strange. She caught sight of Jack lounging by the downstairs dartboard (another hung upstairs, she recalled). A wide, lopsided grin broke across his face when he laid eyes on her.

“Hey, Briar Mary! You survived Santa Monica!” he shouted over the music, gesturing for her to come over. Mary spotted a dark skinned man with dimly glowing eyes lingering in the doorway of the storage room on her way around the tables. He was frowning at her, but said nothing.

Mary kept her attention focused on Jack, seeing as how he was the one person that seemed happy to see her. “Barely.” she said sheepishly, gesturing at the spike on her back that had been broken off by the Sabbat. “Guess I’m going to find out if these grow back.”

Jack cackled. “Welcome to unlife, kid. What do you think of your first few nights?”

“I’m exhausted.” she admitted. “The longest I even had time to think was interrupted by the Sabbat hitting me with a nail board, I think I accidentally made a ghoul but I sent her away and _really_ hope that’s not going to bite me in the ass down the road. Oh. And the prince still has me on a leash. The only reason I was able to get here so fast is because he asked me to come here.”

The man by the storeroom scoffed, and Mary glanced over her shoulder guiltily.

“Don’t mind Skelter.” Jack said dismissively. “You made yourself a ghoul in the first month? Color me impressed. You want an army to tell you you’re pretty?”

“I only let her drink from my wrist once.” Mary said, her voice small. “She was dying.”

“You’re sweet.” There was no shortage of mockery in his tone. “One sip isn’t going to ruin her life. She’ll forget about you. Eventually. It wears off.” He scratched at his beard. “For the rest - yeah, that’s about what I expected. It’s real shit, being a fledgling. Everybody bosses you around, everyone’s trying to get you on their side. Including yours truly.” He winked, and Mary found herself appreciative of his self-awareness.

“What’s the best way to tell LaCroix to leave me alone and get someone who knows what they’re doing to do his work for him?” Mary mumbled, rubbing the back of her head. “I still feel like I don’t know anything.”

It got a belly laugh out of Jack. “Telling the Prince who ‘saved your life’-” He added finger quotes for effect. “- to fuck off? That’s brave _and_ stupid. Remember, you’re new. Don’t make enemies until you have to - and you’ll have to, eventually. People will cut fledglings slack, but once you get strong enough to fend for yourself people are going to want you to pick a side.” His eyes shone. “Keep that in mind when you’re talking to Nines. Ah, don’t look so surprised - I figure LaCroix didn’t send you over here to talk to little old Jack.” The fact seemed to positively delight him, some inside joke that Mary had no hope of understanding. “Don’t worry about feeling lost. The more you learn the more questions you have. None of us really knows what the hell’s really going on - just focus on making sure your own ass isn’t in the fire.”

Mary found her nerves soothed. Jack at least understood the awkward situation she was in and didn’t blame her for it. Judging by Skelter’s scoff, not all Anarchs would be so forgiving. “I didn’t think hearing that everyone’s fucked would help, but… it kind of does. Thanks, Jack.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid. What’s the Prince got you doing with those grubby hands of yours, anyway?”

That was a thorny question. It wasn’t as if she’d been forced to sign an NDA, but LaCroix wasn’t likely to approve of her chatting to Anarchs about his plans. Well, she’d tried to wiggle her way out - it was his own fault for keeping her on side against her will. “He’s gotten me to investigate some old sarcophagus - apparently a ship full of humans died because of it? I got a look at it and it gives me the creeps. LaCroix wants it before the Sabbat do something stupid to grab it.”

Jack’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Did he tell you what everyone thinks is inside?”

“Some sort of ancient? I don’t think he agrees.” Mary shrugged.

“I bet he doesn’t.” Jack said darkly - clearly believing otherwise. Whatever he was implying went over her head. “The Camarilla like to keep antediluvian talk quiet - according to them, they don’t exist. Governing systems really don’t like when people think it’s the end of the world.” He snickered. “When you’ve got nothing left to lose, Kindred start doing some wild shit.”

“Antediluvians…?”

“Right. Take your grandsire and multiply that by… oh, seven or eight. Antediluvians are who some Kindred think founded all the clans, older than dirt. I’m talking alive before the Great Flood old. You went to Sunday school, right?”

The remark was meant to be teasing, but Mary surprised him. “That and then some. So… does that mean the Bible’s all true?”

Another cackle from Jack. “We got our own Bible, but you won’t find it in hotel nightstands. Who knows. If you want to hear more about it, talk to Skelter.” He jerked his head toward the storeroom door, where Skelter still lingered - not even pretending like he wasn’t eavesdropping. “I won’t take up more of your time. I bet you’re itching to talk to the man upstairs.”

The metaphor didn’t escape her. “Nines is here?”

“You’ll have to get through Damsel first.” Jack warned, waving her off before she could ask any more questions.

Mary turned and approached Skelter, intent on following up on her questions. He was taller than Jack and powerfully built, with elegantly sweeping cheekbones and full lips. His glowing eyes had a strangely alluring quality to them, but they were rimmed with dark circles - the man radiated exhaustion. 

“If it ain’t the talk of the town.” he spit at her approach. “What errand’s the prince got the poster girl for Camarilla benevolence running tonight?” Despite his scowl he was softly spoken, like Nines, voice rumbling low in his throat. She remembered him from the trial - one of the people trying to hold Nines back from doing something he’d regret. Something about him stuck in his memory beyond that, but she ascribed it to her job at the bar.

Mary frowned back up at him, watching the way he leaned subtly away from her. As always, her presence made others uncomfortable - but he’d eavesdropped on her conversation and made himself a part of it, so she had no intention of letting him off the hook.

“Talking to Nines, in case you were only pretending to eavesdrop.” Mary replied sharply. “I’m trying to get out of LaCroix’s hands, okay? Or did you forget that I only got thrown into all this shit…” She started counting on her fingers. How long _had_ it been? It felt like months. “... like, a week ago. Look, you heard me and Jack. I don’t know anything about what I am. You do.”

Skelter narrowed his eyes, clearly torn between his dislike for her and his own desire to speak on the subject. “You’re only here because the Prince told you to be.”

“Jack asked me to be here first, actually.” she corrected him. “And Nines after that.”

He lofted a brow. Whatever it was about what she said, it was enough to finally push him into her favor. “Alright. You get one question. Nines is waiting for you.”

“Well, since you were happy to listen in and scowl -” Mary began. “- you know what I’m going to ask. What about an antediluvian sleeping in a sarcophagus has everyone freaked out?”

“Watch the attitude. I’m only putting up with you stinking up the place because Nines wants to talk to you. Keep acting up and I’ll show your ashes to the door.” Skelter certainly looked capable of doing so. “It’s a long story so I’ll try to keep it short. You’ve got a six thousand year old curse in your blood, ugly - and no matter how strong it makes you feel, it’s got you bound in chains. You know the Bible, you know about Caine and Abel. Well, Caine wasn’t just outcast from humanity. He was turned. The first vampire.”

Andrei had mentioned Caine. Mary had the sense not to bring it up, remaining silent.

Skelter continued. “Legend goes he embraced a few people - the Second Generation. They embraced children of their own, the Third Generation. We’re supposed to be able to trace our lineage back to them. The thing about Kindred is that the older we get and the closer to Caine we are, the less human blood satisfies us. You know the difference between feeding from blood bags and humans?”

Mary nodded.

“It’s like that, but worse. Any vampire born before the Flood’s close to Caine and ancient, and they’re all asleep, waiting for the end of the world to come. Then they’ll wake up, and wake up hungry. Which means you, me, and every Kindred out there’s going to be on the menu. Until then, they call through the blood. They manipulate their offspring, all of them, without them knowing it. The Camarilla’s all part of it - it’s why they don’t like antediluvian talk.” He paused, noting her wide eyes. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“Because I might have to deal with one if that’s what’s in the sarcophagus.” she admitted, shoulders drooping slightly. “And my sire mentioned something about fighting them. I don’t really remember, things are kind of fuzzy.”

His eyes widened, a streak of fear running through them. “Was that the ugly motherfucker’s game? Shit. I knew he looked old as hell, always hard to tell with you bastards. Must’ve taken the easy way out so he could be sure he wouldn’t get diablerized before Gehenna hits.” Skelter’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and she wondered if he suspected her Sire was part of the Sabbat.

Mary couldn’t worry about that for now. In the moment she had information - and a possible motive for her Sire leaving her on her own. “You’re going to have to tell me what that means.”

“You got _one_ question, but I’m feeling generous.” Skelter sighed. “Diablerie’s what we call feeding on your fellow vampire beyond death. You drain humans dry and they just die on you. With Kindred you get to the end of the vitae and hit the heartsblood. Supposed to taste better than anything, but it’s like eating a man’s soul. I’ll be nice and tell you not to get any ideas unless you have a death wish. Every part of society hates it and people can see if you’ve done it. Camarilla, Anarch, even some Sabbat - they’ll kill you on sight.”

Mary furrowed her brow. “So why does anyone do it?”

“Some people think if you do it you gain the power of whoever’s heartsblood you drink. People start looking at elders _real_ funny. A lot of that shit went down back in the Dark Ages. It’s why you don’t see those old methuselahs running around in the open.” Judging by his tone, Skelter held nothing but contempt for the action. “Your Sire might have wanted to make sure that by the time all of our souls are judged that his wouldn’t be eaten.” He lowered his voice. “That’s Gehenna. End of the world. Heavy shit, man.”

“Vampire Rapture, huh.” Mary mused aloud, her voice as hushed as Skelter’s. “No kidding. Is any of it real?”

“See for yourself.” Skelter seemed unsettled. “I’ve been around long enough to have seen some shit. The fact that we even exist says something - we burn in sunlight, skilled hunters can kill us with their faith. There’s something bigger at play.”

Beckett would disagree, and Mary desperately wanted to believe that he was correct in his assertion that the things Skelter spoke of were superstition. Still, she’d grown up in a religious household - even after what she’d done, she couldn’t quite shake the idea that there were forces beyond her imagining at work in the world. 

The seriousness with which she took Skelter’s words must have shown on her face, for his disdain for her seemed to soften a little. “I wouldn’t talk about it around the Cammies, kid. They might kill you for it.”

Mary swallowed. “Noted.” 

“Don’t let the ghost stories scare ya.” Jack called from his corner, dispelling the aura of unease that hung around her.

“Right.” Mary shook herself. “I should probably go talk to Nines.”

Skelter’s sneer returned. “Don’t try anything.”

“Do I look -” Mary cut herself off. “- don’t answer that. I won’t.”

She turned to the stairs - here her memories were scarcer, fuzzier. Whatever she did when she worked at The Last Round in her human years, going upstairs was a rare thing. As she planted her foot on the first step, a voice echoed in her mind.

_Don’t go upstairs when he’s in._

Mary paused, wondering if it was her mind granting her a warning or if Skelter had just set her on edge. Whatever it was, she still had a job to do - she’d still been invited up. She cast away her fear and put one foot in front of the other, ascending the stairs. She didn’t even manage to reach the second level, for on the first landing she was immediately accosted by a woman not much taller than she was, standing guard in the stairwell.

“Sabbat chase you in here, Cammy?”

“You must be Damsel.” she muttered, wondering if everyone in the bar was going to insult her.

“If you know that, then you know not to fuck with me.” Damsel barked. She was dressed like kids Mary remembered from high school, wearing a beret, cargo pants, and combat boots as if she was part of the military. Her shirt had a design that looked like old Soviet propaganda, a slogan written in Cyrillic. A wannabe revolutionary. Her bright red hair, steely grey eyes, and vicious snarl sparked recognition in her. “Heard Nines saved your ass again. Your pretty prince can’t look away from his bank account to help you out, boo hoo.”

Mary disregarded the insults, remembering Jack’s advice from the sewer. People were going to call her all sorts of things - the sooner she grew immune to it, the sooner they’d stop on realizing it did nothing. Instead, she squinted at Damsel. “I think we’ve met.” The words came out when she hadn’t meant to say anything, the looping thought in her brain escaping onto her lips.

It cut down Damsel’s anger, replacing it with confusion. “If you weren’t so fucking ugly I’d think you were Malkavian, Cammy.” she mumbled, growing more vicious with her increased unease.

It was something to note. “Look, Nines is -”

“Waiting for you. Yeah. I know. I’m here to tell you that the invitation you got is a goddamn honor. I don’t know _why_ Nines is taking time out of doing the good work to talk to a bootlicker, but if I hear you talking smack I’m breaking one of those things off your shoulder and shoving it up your ass.”

If they’d ever met before, Damsel didn’t recognize her - and Mary certainly didn’t expect _that_. It sparked her temper - she was tired of being insulted for things beyond her control. “What the fuck is your problem?”

It was as if she’d given Damsel the question she’d been dying to hear all night. There was a smile to her snarl, a strange sort of glee she took in venting her anger. “YOU are my goddamn problem.” She poked Mary in the chest. “Nines saves your ass twice and you’re still running back to the ivory tower. I don’t know why anyone’s wasting their time on you.”

Mary bit back the urge to scream back in Damsel’s face - after having her attempts at getting out from under LaCroix’s thumb thrown back at her and being forced to break Heather’s heart, her patience was wearing increasingly thin. “Then I won’t waste any more of yours.” she replied as cooly as she could muster. “Can I go upstairs?”

“Ugh.” Damsel looked almost disappointed that Mary hadn’t put up much of a fight. “Typical Nosferatu.” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Go ahead, Cammy. I’ll be watching you.”

She let Mary pass and followed her up the stairs, taking a seat at the closest table. Mary noted it was covered in various maps and papers, an open cell phone lying on top of it all. Whatever it was Damsel did, she certainly seemed busy.

The upper level was a little quieter than downstairs, less speakers present to blare out industrial metal. A row of windows lined the far wall, and leaning against the rain streaked glass with his eyes turned to the street below was Nines Rodriguez.

With a start she wondered if he’d watched her staring up at the bar. Mary took a deep breath - out of an attempt to soothe herself rather than need - and approached him. She could feel Damsel’s eyes burning into the back of her.

Mary had long since figured out how to walk silently, but Nines must have sensed her approach - _or smelled her_ , she thought dejectedly - for he turned his head in her direction as she drew near. “Hey, kid.” The smile he offered her vanished quickly. “You look better.”

“I can talk again.” she returned his smile with a genuine one of her own, all of her mangled teeth grown back in. It must have been a fright, but Nines appeared to have bigger concerns than her appearance. She was grateful for it.

“I’m going to want you to listen for a bit first. I asked you here for a reason.” Nines began - she was tempted to ask him if he was planning on insulting her too, but she settled for a simple nod.

“I’m all ears.” It was a bad joke. Damsel was glaring at her from the other side of the room.

“Alright. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not a prophet, I’m not a politician, I’m not a preacher. I’m the same as you - a person from nowhere who got involved in something five hundred times bigger than you and me.” He gave her a meaningful look, and the trial once more flashed into her mind in sharp relief. Perhaps that was the understanding Nines held with her, the way that somehow she’d become important and a pawn all at once. 

“It sucks.” Mary muttered, and she swore she saw a glimmer of something softer than the hard front he was putting up in his eyes.

“LaCroix threw you out there knowing nothing, and I think you deserve to know the score. The Camarilla - it’s all just a big pyramid scheme. The old timers at the top have God only knows what plan in mind, and if they lose their power, they die. So they sired more to manipulate to carry out their plans, and they sire more for _them_ to manipulate because they want a little power of their own, who then bring even more Kindred into the world for their own plans. It goes on and on - makes my head hurt just thinking about it. What it boils down to is this - the only people with any real power are the ones at the top, and it’s in their best interest to keep it that way.”

The blood, Skelter had said - chains shackling them all. Nines had brought it from the spiritual realm into the practical one.

“Why does anyone join the Camarilla, then?” Mary asked with a frown, and it wasn’t the answer Nines was expecting judging by the way his eyes widened. It lasted only a moment, his expression returning to grim intensity soon after.

“You don’t ‘join’ them, unless you’re defecting. The Camarilla say all Kindred belong to them by default. They did it to you - that trial was because you broke their laws just by existing.” Bitterness was evident in his tone - he broke eye contact and turned back to the window for a moment, watching the rain droplets track their way down the glass. “Whether you like it or not, they want you to follow their rules and do what they tell you. You ever try asking LaCroix for a break?”

“It didn’t go well.” she admitted. “He said that if I’m not part of the Camarilla they can’t protect me. That I’ll be in danger because I’m so new at this thing.”

“You’ll be in danger because you’re a wild card.” Nines replied. “It’s why LaCroix sent you packing to Santa Monica, out where you can’t do any damage. Wouldn’t be surprised if he hoped you’d die on your way there.” At her questioning look, he added. “Jack filled me in.”

Despite the warnings of Skelter and Damsel, Mary said precisely what was on her mind. “He also said it’s probably smart for me to keep going along with what LaCroix says for now, so if you’re going to yell at me like everyone else I’ll spare you the effort and just go.” 

Nines shook his head. “I’m not here to yell at you, kid. I’m sorry if the others gave you grief. The Camarilla’s done enough damage that they don’t trust easy.” 

“So what do you believe in, if you’re not into yelling at fledglings?” Mary asked, unable to stifle her curiosity. 

A far away look settled across his features. “I learned how the world works during the depression. A bunch of rich bastards screwed the country and got away with it while the little people suffered.” He blinked away visions of the past and turned his attention back to her. “Then I died, and I found the same shit happening here. Now I’ve got the power to change it.”

The Great Depression - Mary did the math in her head. Nines had to be at least eighty. Time hadn’t dulled his fire. “Has anyone else tried to lead a revolution?”

Nines shot her a look of warning. “I’m not the leader of anything. I just got caught holding the bag when things started going to hell - I’m on the same level as everyone else here. Yeah, people had a revolution here right after the war. They gathered a group of people who aren’t assholes and reminded the quote-unquote elite what this country’s supposed to be about. Everyone’s equal here - you’re in the last Anarch Free State. We took a hammering from the Kuei-Jin a few years ago and LaCroix suddenly shows up saying LA’s Camarilla property after good anarchs fought and died for it.”

The war was sixty years ago - the few people Mary had asked about the Anarchs omitted that fact in their recounting of their perceived incompetence. Sixty years of a Free State - not bad for anarchy. “... I get why everyone’s mad.”

“The only place LaCroix belongs is in an urn.” Nines finished. “I’ve been fighting to keep LA free since my Embrace, and I’m one of the last from the old days who hasn’t been ashed or switched sides.” The subject of turncoats darkened his expression, a tension obvious in his jaw. 

“Who’s switched sides?” Mary ventured, aware that it seemed like a touchy subject.

“San Francisco.” Nines replied. “The Free States used to run the entire west coast, but a lot of cities turned coward. They let the Camarilla in to try and save themselves from the Kuei-Jin. Now they die by being thrown in to fix Camarilla fuck ups instead. Trading one kind of death for another.”

From what Mercurio told her Mary was starting to piece together the puzzle of LA’s past. Beneath the hostile exterior of the Anarchs ran a pain so deep it was almost palpable - in Nines’ tone she could hear how many had been lost, the grief from so much death. She cleared her throat, changing the subject to something less painful.

“So… are there any rules of yours I gotta keep in mind?” she asked, wondering just how they kept order. 

Nines seemed thankful for the change of tone. “Common sense. One - you act like an animal ‘round here, you’ll get put down like one. Two - don’t kill when you feed. You want to slake the Beast, we’ve got plenty of animals that need putting down in this city. Three -“ He grinned a little. “- Camarilla’s full of shit. Four, watch your back. Always. The Camarilla have been playing the manipulation game longer than you and I’ve been alive.” Sadness weaved its way into his tone again. “Careful who you trust.”

Mary thought of Knox and Mercurio, and felt it in her bones. She wondered if it was the cause of the shift in Nines’ tone - the hollow feeling of trust betrayed. San Francisco must have taught him that lesson, if nothing else.

“Last, and most important for you - learn how to fight. Your looks aren’t going to do you any favors, and no one cares what you have to say when they’ve got a shotgun in your face. If you even get the chance to talk.”

“If they don’t kick my teeth in.” Mary mumbled. 

“Yeah.” Nines tilted his head, studying her. “That’s my piece. I’ve got a question of my own for you. You don’t have to answer.”

It piqued her curiosity. “What is it?”

“How’ve you been holding up? I know it’s not easy - I’ve been there, but I didn’t have to deal with a pretender Prince on my back.”

It was the first time anyone had asked how _she_ was doing, and it was as if he’d opened the floodgates. “It’s lonely.” she confessed. “Not that I really had friends in life - at least I don’t think so. I’ve got to worry about people seeing me wherever I go. I tried to help a girl and she screamed at me. The people who’ve been nicest to me are ghouls, but I wonder if they’re just that way because they have to be.” She felt a little lump forming in her throat, more emotional than she’d planned on being. Something about Nines made her feel oddly safe - paradoxically, distrust followed it, paranoia that he was exerting some sort of influence on her. “I guess I’m just… coming to terms with things. Rule number four, you know?” Mary made an attempt at a smile, trying to provide a smokescreen for her moment of vulnerability.

Nines’ expression changed as she spoke - he was staring at her face with a trace of what Mary could only describe as horror. Panicked, she wondered if somehow she’d managed to get _uglier_ in the past few moments - but his follow up question was one she didn’t expect.

“What do you remember from when you were alive?”

 _Eat shit, Bertram_. He recognized her - he must have. “This is going to sound crazy.” Mary began. “But I think I worked here, for a little while. I swear, you seemed familiar, and so did Skelter and Damsel - when I walked in the place I wanted to give all the tables a good cleaning, so I figured, you know.”

A hollow look settled over Nines - his gaze darted over to Damsel, who had mercifully turned her attention to whatever she was working on at the table. It instilled Mary with a deep sense of unease. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“I’m going to need you to answer one more question for me.” he answered, voice wavering with the tension of a drawn bowstring. “Do you remember what happened after?”

“It’s cloudy.” Mary found her own nerves on edge, the next words nervously babbled. “I worked with computers after. Network security. I think my sire’s ghoul came in as a consultant. He asked me on a date - it was terrible, all he did was ask me weird questions. Casimir - my sire - showed up in my apartment one night, a month or two later. I think his ghoul was testing me. And then… this all happened.” She gestured at herself. “Next thing I knew I was on the stage, and you know how that went.”

Nines was staring at a point beyond her now, silent.

_If whatever happened was important enough to remember, it’s going to hurt now. And it’s probably something bad._

Bertram might have the last laugh after all.

“Nines.” she said slowly. “Do you know something?”

He snapped back to attention. “Yeah.” he exhaled. “Come with me.”


	9. The Loft I

Just when Nines thought the world couldn’t bleed him further, the Nosferatu fledgling let her guard down for a brief moment and he _knew._

It was in the eyes - it was always in the eyes. The blood could warp everything else, could turn her irises milky white, but whatever soul remained behind them was the same. Fear and fire intertwined, the same eyes that had looked him dead in the face before the turn of the millenium. 

Now she was cursed, well and truly - and unlike him, she had to wear the evidence of it on her body. Worse still she was in the Camarilla’s grip, and despite all she’d said he still didn’t know if it was all a ploy. 

He was frightening her. The fear crystallized in her white eyes, sharpening to a blade’s edge. Mary was a predator now. Judging by what the Sabbat had done to her, she was out of her depth.

_She could have died back there. A few minutes later and he might have found ashes. He’d never have known._

Nines shoved down the waves of nausea and horror and told her to follow him. Keeping it together was essential, and at least this way she’d walk behind him. Looking at her now that he knew wasn’t something he could do in The Last Round without putting them both in danger.

Years of practice made putting the mask back on possible. His face was grim as the circumstances his people found themselves in - but it didn’t stop Damsel from looking up in confusion as the two of them approached the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked, too confused to put up her usual front of fury. “You’ve still got a meeting with that Gangrel from-”

“I know.” he answered, trying to keep his tone gentle but firm. “I won’t be long.”

Damsel looked Mary up and down - he caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye. It was difficult to read Nosferatu emotions amidst the ruin of their faces, but Mary seemed to have taken his cue and assumed a neutral expression of her own.

“Okay. I’ll try and stall him if he gets here early.” Damsel dipped her head toward the stairs. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

He heard Mary grumble something as they descended the stairs - probably surprised Damsel was capable of any kind of civility, based on the raised voices he’d heard only a few minutes before. Nines grappled for the brief note of humor, something to distract him from the thoughts echoing in his mind.

It couldn’t have been a ploy. LaCroix wasn’t the type to willingly play a fool. Whatever reasons her sire had for snuffing out the light Mary had been, they were his own.

Anger. It was an old friend, one he happily embraced - Nines was well familiar with how to refine it to a point, how to grant himself focus. He pulled it on like an old jacket and let it burn away the melancholy and pain. He knew how to deal with anger. When they passed Skelter’s post the man only offered a brief grunt in farewell. Nines appeared himself again.

Still, he could feel Jack’s eyes on him when he opened the front door. Mary slipped out around him, obviously eager to escape the bar, and Nines desperately tried to drown the memories of times she’d done it before. He couldn’t give himself over to the past entirely, a part of his mind was still in denial. One last thing to show her, one last test, and he’d know for true.

Maybe she’d know, too. Nines heard rumors that traumatic sirings tended to have negative effects on the mind. Judging by the large span of silver scar tissue on her neck and the many mangled teeth her sire possessed it was the likely culprit for her scattered memory. 

How soon after he’d last seen her had it happened? Their last meeting had been after her date with the ghoul - _he left her warm and soft, arms laced around her pillow, cheeks freckled from the sun_. Remembering it was a mistake, the warmth it once granted now feeling like a blade in the gut. It had pained him to leave her, but the thought that she’d be safe had made it possible. Now he was mourning all over again - at once having to come to terms with the fact that the woman he’d left behind was dead, the Kindred behind him left in her place. 

The rain misted down on his skin when he stepped outside - he never remembered an October like this, not in all the decades he’d spent in the city of the angels. The city he called home. It helped ground him, pulled him out of his mind and back to reality. In the quiet outside The Last Round, the gentle hum of traffic from the freeway above and raindrops splattering the pavement a stark contrast to the blaring industrial music inside, Mary finally spoke.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it now, please.” she piped up from behind him. Any suspicions he had about her being a Camarilla spy disappeared - Mary sounded resigned.

Nines turned to face her, wondering how he’d given her that impression - but then again, his muscles were tensed, shoulders taut with repressed rage at the senselessness of it all. Perhaps she could feel it. “I’m not going to kill you, kid.”

“Then what the fuck is going on?” Mary’s voice had an edge of her own desperate anger to it - she’d noticed he wasn’t able to look her in the face anymore. 

He headed left down the sidewalk taking longer strides than he’d meant to - she had to jog to keep up with him. “There’s somewhere you might want to see.” he spoke lowly, approaching the door to the apartment building next door. “It’s a better place to talk.”

\--

Mary struggled to keep close and kept her voice just as quiet as his. “You don’t trust the others?”

Nines chuckled humorlessly, fishing his key ring out of his back pocket. The way he picked through the keys to find the one he was looking for mirrored the way Mary was trying to sort through her thoughts. She watched him unlock the building’s front door. “I’d trust them with my life. That’s not what I’m worried about.”

What was he worried about, she wondered as she watched him open the door with a little more force than was necessary. Something had him furious, and in the back of her mind a voice similar to Bertram’s was telling her that this all was a very bad idea. 

Yet in spite of it all she followed Nines inside, ripples of memory even stronger once she could smell the must and peeling paint inside. The place was just barely in better condition than her Santa Monica haven - idly she knew that the night was drawing to a close and she’d have to rush to make it back in time for sunrise, but strangely she felt as if it wasn’t a concern. From the water damage to the way her boots scuffed across the linoleum floor, the place felt oddly like _home_.

Nines was right. Wherever he was leading her was somewhere she wanted to see. It seemed like he was just as anxious as she was - he was taking the stairs two at a time and it looked as if she was destined to remain chasing him. Up the flights of concrete steps they went - one, two, three, four floors passed them by before they came to the end of the stairs at the fifth floor landing.

Mary stopped in her tracks, seeing the door that greeted her. Nines dared a glance over at her, apparently unable to look at her for more than a couple seconds at a time.

“You don’t have to.” he said quietly. “We can forget about this if you want. You won’t be the first Kindred who’d prefer to leave the past behind.”

Everyone she’d asked about it seemed to agree. All advice was pointing her away, and yet just as she had when her sire approached her in her apartment, Mary stared into the darkness and answered its call.

“I want to see.”

All was silent save for the jingling of keys. Nines unlocked the door and pulled it open, holding it for her and granting her some sight into what lay beyond.

Present reality was overlaid by the past, glimmering visions flashing in and out of her mind’s eye. First was a narrow hallway flanked by a closet - she remembered leaning against it and laughing, pulling on a sweater without it snagging on shoulder spikes. Slowly she stepped inside. 

The place was dark, but she remembered it filled with sunlight. Mary had entered a loft apartment - the far wall consisted of floor length windows hidden behind thick blackout curtains that belonged in a theatre rather than an apartment. The lower level consisted of a living room and a kitchen beneath the overhanging loft. She knew without having to look that there was a bed upstairs. For the moment her attention was focused on two couches arranged in front of a television set. The screen was dark, but she remembered movies playing on it while she reclined on the couch with a box of pizza. Already she’d forgotten the taste. Mary remembered laughter that wasn’t hers, exchanging words with a figure that was still blurry in her memory. Faceless, a moving mannequin.

It was all horribly familiar but she lacked any context, and the more she tried to dig in her mind the more her grip on it all was slipping. Pain flared up in her skull as if someone had shone a bright light in her eyes, memories starting to overlay on top of each other. Her voice and another’s mixed together, a rising cacophony. Her neck was starting to ache where she’d been bitten, and she had to grip the back of the couch to keep her balance. What was happening to her?

“Mary.” Nines spoke from behind her - he had entered while she was consumed by the past and shut the door behind him. He said her name like it was familiar. Like he knew her.

“I remember.” she choked out. “But I don’t - there was someone else, but I don’t know who they are. They were here, they were always here.” Keeping the panic from her voice was impossible now. “Why can’t I remember?”

Even in the darkness she could see him, her eyes built for the gloom. Nines kept his distance from her, his eyes fixed on the floor even as he took a few steps forward. “Can you remember New Years?" he asked - at first it puzzled her enough to shake her panic away.

Then it was as if her mind was an instrument she was trying to tune, and she had finally plucked the right note.

_The city sprawled out before her like she’d never seen it before. His watch was on the stone barrier that ringed the rooftop’s edge, counting down to midnight. The hand struck twelve, and fireworks broke out all over the city. In spite of herself, she stretched up on her toes to place a kiss on the cheek of the man next to her. He turned, shock clear in pale blue eyes she’d never forget, and she’d apologized, afraid that she had destroyed the one friendship she had built._

Those same pale blue eyes were looking her in the face, now. Mary stumbled back, memories resonating in a chorus of clarity.

Nines. It was Nines. The leader of the LA Anarchs had spent nights watching movies good and bad with a frightened human girl, had given her safe haven when she thought there was no further mercy left in the world. Of course he’d never shared meals with her. Of course he’d worked nights. Of course she was never allowed in the upper level of The Last Round when he was present. The concept that she had been so close to the world she’d now been pulled into and had had no idea stunned her.

“You.” she whispered. “ _You_.” Mary repeated, power returning to her vocal cords. 

“Yeah.” Nines breathed in response. He was eerily still - he might as well have been carved of marble.

The Beast within her uncoiled and began to pace, sensing her fraying nerves. “How long did you know? Is that why you spoke up at the theatre?”

“I didn’t.” he replied brokenly, and it was enough for her to believe him. "The theatre was on principle. I'd say the same for anyone. I didn't know until now." Nines gestured helplessly at her. “Your eyes. When you were being yourself, not the good fledgling you thought you should be. I knew. They’re yours.”

_Her eyes were the only part of her she’d ever liked - she’d watched them turn milky white in the mirror and sink into her skull._

But they were still hers. Something about it flooded her with warmth. However great her transformation was, a part of who she was still lingered, a part of her that wasn’t monstrous.

Nines remembered them. Remembered her.

Friendships with humans didn’t happen, that much Mary had gathered in the nights comprising her new life. They were food, they were supposed to be kept in the dark, only brought into the fold to be made ghouls and serve. But she had been kept in the dark, hadn’t she? The Masquerade was kept intact, her first realization that she shared the night with the supernatural was when Casimir had stepped into the moonlight.

“Why?”

“I saw the world for what it was in the Depression.” Nines repeated his words from earlier, each one ringing with exhaustion. “I saw a lot of people like you suffer. When you showed up on my doorstep I knew I had to help. I had the resources."

“I was human.”

“I know.” Even in the dark - or perhaps because of it - she could hear the guilt in his tone. “I told myself it wouldn’t be long, just enough for you to get on your feet. We’d just made the truce with the Kuei-Jin, so many people were dead, everything was falling apart. I...” He paused, and Mary found herself leaning forward as if she could chase the sentence’s end. “... I just wanted one thing to go right. It was stupid.”

Stupid. Mary had been stupid, too, pressing her wrist to Heather’s dying lips - but she’d just wanted something to go right, like he had. Like Nines, she couldn’t stand to let tragedy pass when she knew she was capable of helping.

Yet greater tragedy had struck her - despite Nines’ attempts to help her get back on her feet in her mortal life, there she stood with a mangled body and a thirst for blood, unable to ever see the sun again. Nines had ghosted her after New Years 2000, once she'd pulled herself back to her feet. He couldn’t stop Casimir’s ghoul from making her a target.

Casimir’s ghoul. 

_The date was terrible - Julian was handsome enough, but he looked at her like a specimen, asking her questions that felt more like a personality test than anything. Mary had stayed as long as politeness required, eaten her entree and excused herself before dessert. When she made it back to her apartment building she fumbled with her keys, wondering if it wasn’t just a better idea to shelve the whole concept of dating when a figure she thought she’d never see again stepped into the light. He looked just as startled to see her as she was to see him._

Unlike the others, the memory rippled in her mind's eye as if underwater. Mary didn’t know if it was just a dream that had fixed itself in her brain - she knew it was years after she’d last seen him. Only a few months before the present day.

_His lips pressed against hers, his hands rough but gentle. The coin on the cord around his neck caught the light as he braced himself above her, forehead pressing against hers._

If she was still able to blush she would have, heat blooming in her gut and spreading through her veins. It might have been a dream - _must_ have been a dream. Kindred didn’t do such a thing with humans, did they? She’d felt something for him, once, she knew that much - but it was a night after a bad date, her mind could have invented something to take the wound away. Even so, the blood within her awakened at the very thought of everything that dream implied, and in spite of everything - Nines’ current silence, her own common sense, she proved Mercurio right by blurting what came to mind regardless of danger or tact.

“Did we… did you…” Mary struggled with the first few words, but didn’t take it as a warning she should quit while she was ahead. “Were we more than friends?”

The clouds outside must have parted, for moonlight spilled through a crack in the curtains, illuminating Nines’ face. He looked pained - the moment the pale light touched his face he looked away from her toward the ground. It was an expression she’d seen on Mercurio’s face when she asked about Jeanette and Bertram’s relationship.

It left her incredulous. “You’re embarrassed.” she said flatly - the man was at least eighty, after all, even more old-fashioned than Mercurio must have been. His reaction was all the answer she needed, and Mary found her comprehension of reality shaken again.

“No.” Nines replied as quickly as she’d spoken, looking up at her again. The wince on his face didn’t escape her notice, nor did the subtle way he shifted away from her.

The Beast within her roared, all of her anger and frustration from the past several nights coalescing into something terribly real. He’d slept with her, a human, after leaving her for _years_ \- mere weeks before she’d been dragged into his world in the most violent of ways. If he’d cared for her enough to do the taboo, why hadn’t he turned her? All of the scowling faces, the screams of terror, the sneers, the insults, the knowledge that isolation was to be her eternity - it could have been avoided, if he’d cared, couldn’t it? Or did he have some hand in her fate - was it why he took interest in her in the first place? 

Blood surged through her deadened veins, and she couldn’t keep the words from her lips any longer. “You could _fuck_ me, but you couldn’t tell me about this?” Mary shouted, the action freeing. She swept her arm in a general gesture at their surroundings and felt ten feet tall. “You could have ghouled me. You could have Embraced me. Or did you know Casimir already staked his claim?” she spat, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. Anger felt _good._ “Or.” Mary added, stepping closer to him, tone growing dangerously low. “Is the leader of the Anarchs just into using human women?”

It was a bad move. Nines’ anger didn’t manifest in shouting, as hers did, nor did he move to close the distance between them or try to appear threatening. All the threat he needed was in his eyes, cold as death. “Is that what you think I’d do? You know things don’t work that way. If you think that little of me you better run back to your _Prince_.” There was an intensity to his tone that Mary didn’t realize, her anger deafening her to the subtleties in his voice. “You _asked_ me. I don’t use people.” 

Mary squared her shoulders, unflinching from his gaze even though it felt as if it could slice her to pieces. “Yeah?” she retorted. “And what did I _ask_?”

It got him to pause, anger replaced by a moment of bashfulness - whatever values that had been instilled in him when he was alive resurfacing. It didn’t last long. When he answered the look on his face seemed to say that he’d warned her. 

“You said you were okay with dying alone, but you’d like a good lay for once in your life.”

Dying alone. What an idiot she’d been to think she could ever comprehend what it was to live that truth when she was still human and whole. Yet think it she had - Mary almost laughed, the words precisely what she’d say. It was too in character - she believed him. Melancholy settled over her, anger withering from her newfound knowledge, and her shoulders drooped.

Nines’ gaze softened, his anger seeming to mirror hers. “If it makes you feel any better, I felt like shit for it. I should have walked away.” A muscle in his jaw tensed, as if biting back words he decided to leave unsaid. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have left if our places were switched. I had LA and my people here to worry about, and I wasn’t going to ruin your life by dragging you into a war bigger than either of us.”

Mary couldn’t argue. She’d sent Heather away for similar reasons, even when the girl pleaded with her and looked desperate to stay. Even when her heart longed to have a friend. But it was different, Heather was blood bound. “I could handle myself.”

“The moment anyone found out I’d have to ghoul you or kill you. I was already pushing our luck.” The word _our_ made him wince, and she felt a sting in her chest. No doubt the thought of her in that context now sickened him. “Besides. Have you seen how ghouls have it?”

Knox’s smiling and bruised face came to her mind - along with Mercurio’s body lying beaten and bloody on his couch. Suffering in servitude. “Yeah.” she answered quietly.

“And you want that?” Nines needled her. “Because I sure as fuck didn’t.”

The animal within her still wasn’t sated, hungry for answers. He could have brought her into his world, then - she’d have happily joined him. Even standing where she was she was tempted to pledge herself to his cause, LaCroix be damned. “Then why not embrace-”

Nines cut her off before she could finish. “If you think that would be any different, you haven't seen enough. I haven’t Embraced anyone, and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon.” There was genuine pain in his eyes. “Look, Mary. I fucked up. I wanted to do some good - I promise I didn’t know your Sire. I had no idea. And if somehow by bringing you here I brought you to his attention, there’s nothing I can do to make up for it.”

There wasn’t. Nothing could undo the past - nothing could change her visage. Time marched onward, and maybe mourning the past she lost was robbing her of a future she could make for herself. She closed her eyes and listened to the rain pattering against the windows, letting it calm her.

“You’re right.” she finally admitted, opening her eyes and looking at him not as the man she used to know, but the man he was. Mary hadn’t known him then, she realized - she thought he was human like she was, had no idea of the pressure that hung on his shoulders or the things he’d witnessed. 

But he knew her, and that woman hadn’t quite died when Casimir tore open her throat.

Through the cruelty of time, what was a brief liaison that granted the two of them a reprieve from the drudgery of reality had been dragged out into the light and exposed for the foolishness it was. The two of them looked at each other, a Nosferatu and a Brujah now placed on opposite sides of a war older than either of them - older than those who created them. An awkward silence hung in the air.

“What now?” Mary finally asked. It wasn’t something she could bear dwelling on any longer. Whatever feelings she once had belonged to a man who’d never existed, and she wasn’t anything anyone could harbor feelings for now. 

“Keep moving.” Nines replied grimly. From the sound of it, it was his guiding principle. “It’s all you can do.”

Mary shook her head. “Where? It seems like everyone’s giving me a different story, and they expect me to just... devote my entire future to a cause when I barely know what the fuck’s going on.” The return to focus on the present helped her shake the complicated thoughts that webbed the past. “Damsel already thinks I’m the devil and I bet everyone else does, too. I can't even _fight_ well. I just learned who the hell I was.”

Like that, the heaviness in the air lifted. Mary guessed that Nines was probably happy that he didn’t have to keep associating her with the woman she used to be. Together they stepped back into their roles in the play, fledgling and Anarch leader, with no history between them.

“Damsel’s trying to keep the Camarilla from getting under our skin and tearing us apart from the inside. Most turn back. You pushed forward. I don’t think you’re a spy.” Nines seemed more like the man who’d aided her on the lonely street after the Sabbat had beaten her bloody, now. “Don’t worry about her. I’m not going to force you to pick a side.” He moved for the first time since they’d entered the room, resting his weight against the couch and looking at her consideringly. “I can’t help you with the politics, but I can give you a fighting chance. I used to teach newbies how to scrap, before everything went to hell. I could teach you.”

Mary blinked, dumbfounded. “You still want to help me?”

“If you want to learn.” 

“Even if I’m one of the Camarilla?”

“Are you?” Nines looked at her with a raised brow - his tone suggested he believed otherwise. “Yeah. Even if you’re part of the Camarilla."

Mary found herself speechless. He was the first Kindred she saw acting against his own interests. Nines had said he didn’t think she was a spy, but could have been a very good one - it was probably what LaCroix intended for her, if the rumors she heard about her clan were anything to go by. With no small amount of bewilderment she wondered if Nines _trusted_ her.

He’d told her never to do the same.

Whatever his plan was - and while she wanted to believe he had good intentions, she was smart (or rattled) enough to remain skeptical - Mary couldn’t deny that he’d driven off the Sabbat pack with skill. Even Jack sang his praises when it came to combat. The two times she fought other vampires nearly killed her. She needed all the help she could get.

“Alright. Where do I go?”

“Come back to The Last Round around midnight tomorrow. I’ve got a couple hours free, I can show you the ropes.” Nines’ tone was back to the one he’d used telling her about the nature of the Camarilla back in the pub - that of a mentor, a professional. “You got a haven?”

“In Santa Monica.” she replied, remembering Bertram’s advice and keeping things intentionally vague.

“It’s getting late - I don’t know if you can make it back from here before sunrise. You can slum it here for the day if you want.” The unsaid was obvious - she'd done it before.

It was something Mary hadn’t considered - if she wasn’t able to make it back to Santa Monica before the sun rose, she’d be spending the night in the sewers - and she’d be heading back downtown again anyways to take Nines up on his offer, not to mention following up on the invitation she’d found on her desk what felt like ages ago. Staying in the loft made sense - and after all, it had been home to her once, hadn’t it?

“Okay.” she agreed.

Nines pushed off from the couch he was leaning against and started walking to the door. “I should get going. There’s someone I’ve got to meet.”

“Yeah. I bet you’re a busy guy.” Mary said lamely. “See you tomorrow?”

The smile he offered her was genuine, if fleeting. “See you tomorrow.”

When he shut the door behind him Mary shoved down the sense of deja vu it had given her. She had to move, she was ready to crawl out of her own skin. Looking down at her hands, she saw how her palms had become blackened with filth.

A bath would do her some good. 

Yesterday she’d wanted nothing more than to be aware of her past, desperately eager to understand the flashes of clarity in her memory. Now she hated that she knew the bathroom was upstairs, tried not to think about how muscle memory knew where the light switch was and where to find the soap. As she waited for the basin to fill, she stripped off her clothes and was confronted by the sight of her naked body in the mirror.

Nines had seen enough of her hideous torso - she cursed herself for not finding something beyond her sports bra to cover her before meeting him. In the harsh fluorescent light every lump cast a shadow, every crack and scar was put into sharp relief. It bothered her on principle before, but now the sight of her own body was painful. Now she had some comprehension of what she lost.

Mary drove her fist into the mirror. 

Picking the glass out of her hand offered blissful distraction. 

When the tub was full she took pleasure in roughly scrubbing away all of the dirt and blood until the water turned black as her heart felt. She pulled the plug and watched the filth swirl down the drain, destined for the sewers she’d have to return to the next night. Maybe the action was fruitless. She’d bought a handful of hours of cleanliness at most, but something about it made her feel a little better.

Mary looked at the broken mirror in shame as she pulled her clothes back on. When she exited back out into the loft she stared at the bed - its covers were wrinkled and pillows dented, and if something were to happen to the blackout curtains it’d be in full view of the sunlight. 

She crept back into the bathroom, shut the door, and turned out the light. Mary crawled into the now empty tub and curled up on her side, willing exhaustion to take her.

\--

Nines paused when he shut the door behind him, the scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air on the landing. It hadn’t been present when he arrived.

_Shit._

It might have been smarter to turn around and tell Mary it was best if she just skipped town, but his first instinct was to hunt. If someone had overheard their exchange, his own moment of weakness could spell disastrous consequences for the future of Los Angeles. For what was far for the first time he resented the position he was in, but the hatred he held for himself overrode it - a paradox, in that it was the same self hatred that drove him to keep sprinting down the stairs in an attempt to ensure his own survival.

When he threw open the door to the street beyond he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye, leaning against the wall. Nines tried to reign in his frantic energy, and slowly turned his head just in time to see Smiling Jack burst into laughter.

"Fucking A, man.” he wheezed, collecting himself after several seconds of uninterrupted cackling. It was only years of experience that kept Nines’ face from cracking. “You fucked a human who got turned Nosferatu-” He paused to bark laughter again. “- and the _Camarilla_ got to her first. If that ain't tragedy I don't know what is." Jack reached out to clap Nines on the back, more a blow than a comfort. "Ah, hell, kid - I knew you had to have some secret behind the poster boy thing, but didn't think it'd be _that_."

“You followed us.” Nines stated the obvious flatly, unable to wrangle an excuse - something, anything. He didn’t even know what emotion he was supposed to feel - was the fact that it was Jack supposed to be a relief, or a greater horror? Embarrassment was threatening to win out even if it was the most useless of the three.

“You were shouting pretty loud, kid - I just went to investigate.” Jack held up his hands in mock innocence. “Tsk tsk. You’re lucky the others aren’t so snoopy.”

They had been up five flights of stairs in a closed room. “Bullshit.”

“If it wasn’t me, it was going to be Damsel.” Jack shrugged. “I could hear her trying to convince herself it was fine to go after you. Don’t you know you can’t trust a Nosferatu?” He collapsed back onto a fit of laughter, slouching back against the brick exterior of the building and holding his gut. “Shit, the look on your face, I should’ve known.”

Nines stood with his arms limp as his sides, looking listlessly down the street. “Are you done?”

"Only getting started, kid.” Jack smiled cheekily. “Hey, I promise I won’t tell, but you gotta tell me something.”

Whatever Jack wanted to know, Nines wasn’t going to like - but if it bought his silence he’d pay the price. “I’m not in a position to argue.”

“Why’d you do it?”

Nines cast him a frustrated look - did he share Mary’s first thought, that he’d seek out such things on his own when everything paled to the taste of blood? When his own moral compass pointed him elsewhere? “She asked me to.”

“Pft. Let me rephrase. Why’d you let her ask you?”

Nines rubbed his temples. “It was just after the truce.” he said quietly. “I helped her get back on her feet. Guess I got attached.”

Jack looked disappointed. “Yeah, yeah, moment of weakness.” he scratched his gut. “Look, kiddo - I don't really give a shit if you like to play with your food before you eat it, but goddamn if I'm not going to laugh about it."

“Don’t laugh about it in front of her.” 

“I’m not that much of an asshole.” Jack snickered. “You’re lucky I like you, kid. You better head on in - you’ve got two living legends on the block tonight.”

Beckett. _Shit_. A meeting with someone with his reputation wasn’t something Nines wanted to have in his current state, but he’d become a practiced hand at keeping his shit together in the modern nights.

“I bet Damsel’s pissed.” he muttered. “Thanks, Jack.”

Nines caught the flicker of a lighter out of the corner of his eye as he walked away, the old Anarch lighting up another cigarette. 

Nines longed for the night to be over, to settle back in at his own haven - then wondered if it wouldn’t be a bittersweet thing, knowing what had happened to the woman who’d stumbled into it five years ago.

He’d mourn her later - as he would all he’d lost, when at last the war came to an end.

If it didn’t kill him first.


	10. Downtown III

Jazz music wasn’t what Nines expected when he returned to The Last Round. The unfamiliar got his hackles up. Damsel accosting him the moment he’d stepped in the door, however, was exactly what he expected, and at least reassured him that there hadn’t been a hostile takeover in the short time he was away.

“Where the hell have you been?” she hissed, keeping her voice down. “What, did you have to kill her or something?”

“No.” Nines replied, trying not to think of the word _kill_ when it came to Mary. “She’s staying next door until tomorrow night, I think.”

Damsel looked positively dumbstruck. “The _cammy_? Or did you manage to get LaCroix being a piece of shit through her skull?”

In his years walking the darkened earth, Nines had learned that the truth was best told in measured doses - but it still needed to be told. “No.” he repeated. “I don’t know where she stands, but treating her like shit isn’t going to earn us any favors.”

“Are you -” Damsel cut herself off and grunted in frustration instead. “Okay, but if I catch her poking around I’m gonna yank those pins out of her one by one. Ugh. I bet the sheets are going to be ruined. The _smell-”_

The look Nines gave her was enough to startle her into momentary silence.

“Right. No treating her like shit.” she mumbled sheepishly. “Look, you better get upstairs.”

“How late am I?”

“Late, but I don’t think he cares. He started talking to Skelter and hasn’t stopped. I can hear wedding bells.” she rolled her eyes. “You better get him out of here. I fucking hate jazz.”

It brought Nines back to a time before everything had gone to hell - he wondered if that was Beckett’s reasoning for it. More than that, he wondered just how the man had managed a change of music. The Last Round felt strange without the constant cacophony of wailing industrial.

He wouldn’t complain. Having something else to occupy his mind was a godsend.

As Damsel had said, when Nines reached the second floor he found Skelter sitting at a table near the windows, leaning forward on it and speaking in hushed tones to a man in a dark trenchcoat and darker shades.

Beckett - renowned scholar, explorer, and most notoriously, an Independent. Jack wasn’t wrong when he’d said the man was a living legend. Even Nines knew Beckett’s continued survival if nothing else was to be respected.

Nines’ approach caught his attention. “Ah, Mr. Rodriguez. My apologies, your comrade here has been _quite_ illuminating on the metaphysical situation in the city and I’m afraid I’ve gotten a little carried away.”

Skelter looked happier than Nines had seen him in months. It wasn’t saying much, but there was a glimmer of discovery in his eyes. Maybe it was a Gangrel thing. Skelter pushed back his chair and stood, looking quite reluctant to leave. “You’re alright, man.”

Beckett smiled in return. “We’ll have to continue another time.” He watched Skelter depart before turning his attention back to Nines. “Have I kept you waiting? I know you’re a busy man.” The eyes behind his shades were animalistic and glowed dimly, a mark of a past frenzy. Nines wondered what caused it as he moved to sit in the chair Skelter vacated.

“I just got in.” he said flatly - if he wanted to simper he’d apologize for it, but Nines wasn’t in the habit of making elders think he was the type to say whatever sweet nothings manners required. Even elders that had Skelter’s approval. “You know LaCroix’s not going to like you being here.”

“Sebastian will have to come to terms with my habits if he’d like my expertise.” Beckett chuckled.

Nines kept his expression carefully neutral. “Is that why you’re here?” The Ankaran sarcophagus was on the tip of everyone’s tongue, now that the city had fallen into what settled for an uneasy peace in the past few nights.

“Here?” Beckett pointed at the floor. “Or _here?_ ” He gestured out the window. “The answer’s the same. No. I’m here for equally abstract reasons, however. The city of angels is… how shall I put this.” He steepled his clawed fingers together - they reminded him of Mary’s, hard as steel and likely sharper. “Vibrating with unease, or so I’ve been told. I’m not familiar with the land personally, but I couldn’t ignore the rumors. You’re a natural born son, aren’t you? What would you say?”

A hastily scheduled meeting in the dying hours of the night for questions regarding rumors of bad feelings. Nines folded his arms. “My people have been halved from what they were ten years ago. The Camarilla showed up and started decorating before we could bury the bodies. We’ve got plenty of reason to be uneasy.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you as one for metaphor.” Beckett observed. “I appreciate the answer, even if you might not have intended it to be informative. It’s similar to my own hypothesis. Los Angeles aches - it’s only natural for those who live within her to feel it.”

It wasn’t what Nines expected. It seemed the night was intent on proving him a fool. “That’s a good way to put it.” he shrugged noncommittally.

Beckett studied him over the rim of his glasses. The man had a strange energy to him - Nines wondered if he was exerting his influence to make his questions more tempting to answer. “I hate to be a gossip, but I have to admit I do have a pettier question for you. Skelter, for all of his virtues, was remarkably less informative in that regard.”

Nines merely raised a brow. The complicated melodies of the music were starting to mirror his own tangle of thoughts - he had a good guess as to what Beckett referred to, and it was a subject he’d have liked to forget for the rest of the night. “The fledgling?”

“I’m predictable.” Beckett sighed. “Yes. That courtroom spat’s spoken of almost as much as the sarcophagus. I’ve met the girl myself, but I’m curious as to your thoughts. I understand she’s visited your establishment as well.”

He shrugged. “The answer’s not interesting. I did what anyone with a sense of justice would do. I don’t know her well.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “Seems like a good kid.” It wasn’t a lie, either. The subject of Mary was a perilously uncertain one now.

“Seems being the operative word here, hm?” Those steel claws of his brushed against each other in a manner that Nines realized was in rhythm with the music. “You don’t strike me as the superstitious sort, I’m certain your reasoning is more practical.”

“LaCroix’s got her as an errand girl.” Nines tried not to let his bitterness be too evident in his tone - if it was, he hoped Beckett would assume it was due to how he’d stuck his neck out for her at the theatre. It was the obvious answer - the truth was something that bordered on ridiculous. “What do the superstitious have to say about her?”

Beckett rolled his eyes in much the same way Damsel had. “Nonsense about being a harbinger of Gehenna or a sword against it, depending who you ask. Some enterprising souls have deduced the timing of her Embrace coincides with all sorts of celestial alignments - assuming, of course, she was brought into the world the night of the trial. They should really just paint a sandwich board and roam the streets preaching like decent folk.”

It’d draw a chuckle from Nines, on any other night. “Some things never change.”

“Indeed.” Beckett leaned back in his chair and let his hands fall to his lap. “I’ve asked my questions, but I’m interested in hearing any others you happen to have. The west coast is host to points of view rarely found elsewhere.”

Nines looked at the man thoughtfully, letting the silence hang for a few moments as he chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally, he decided on something that might give him a chance of gauging just how much he had to worry about the elder’s presence in the city. “You think we have a chance?”

It surprised Beckett, judging by the way his brows shot up over the rim of his glasses. “A question I didn’t think you’d ask, but a good one. Hm.” he hummed. “From what I’ve gathered, Los Angeles seems to be anyone’s game. The playing field appears to be quite even. Your forecast is the same as any other - until someone finds a way to tip the balance. Bear in mind I’m a scholar, not a tactician.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Nines allowed himself to smirk. No, Beckett wasn’t likely to stab them in the back - he spoke with an airy sort of fascination, nothing that implied a stake in things one way or the other.

“Something I’ve rarely been accused of.” Beckett chuckled warmly. “Is that all?”

“That’s all I’ve got.” Nines cast his gaze out the window. “I’ll spread the word that you’re alright. Some of the kids run hot these nights.”

“I appreciate it.” Beckett stood and inclined his head politely. “We may meet again. Thank you for your insight.”

“If you can call it that. Good night.”

“Good evening.”

The music cut out entirely as Beckett descended the stairs. Distantly Nines heard the front door shut - he watched Beckett turn his collar up on the street below before walking into the urban jungle beyond. His attention was drawn back to the bar as Damsel slammed her hands down onto the tabletop.

“So?”

Nines glanced back at her. “So?”

“What the fuck was that all about? Did he have any dirt on LaCroix?”

“That’s not his scene.” he replied tiredly. “He said he’s here for the same reason Skelter’s on edge.”

“Ugh.” Damsel growled. “Waste of our goddamn time.”

“Maybe.”

“And what the hell’s up with you?” she continued. “You look like you’re half awake.”

“It _is_ half past five.”

“You’re impossible.” Damsel groaned. “Then get your ass to bed. Don’t think I’m not grilling you tomorrow.”

Sometimes she took her title as den mother a little too literally, but Nines found Damsel’s badgering endearing in its own way. He stood and headed downstairs, grabbing his helmet from the bar counter on his way out. It looked as if Skelter had already withdrawn to his own Haven for the night.

Damsel was turning out the lights behind him. Nines gave her a lazy salute in farewell - she returned it with another grumble of frustration.

With his bike roaring underneath him and his helmet masking his features, Nines was mercifully free to shed the mental armor he’d constructed around himself. As he wove through downtown’s narrow streets, none could see the pain on his features.

\---

Mary’s dreams offered her no mercy. All was hazy and soft, memories of fingertips brushing her lips and words murmured in her ear - then at once the world shifted around her, and she was being pushed into the Ankaran sarcophagus - skeletal hands holding her back as Nines drew the lid over her.

When she awoke she thought it wasn’t a dream, so cramped were her sleeping quarters. Mary thrust her arms upward to try and lift the sarcophagus lid - but she found only thin air. Memory of the previous night returned to her, and she wondered if she wouldn’t have preferred the coffin after all.

She crawled out of the tub she’d slept in and stepped around the mirror shards on the tile floor. What was it Nines had said? _We keep moving_.

With a somewhat restful sleep, she was better able to suffocate the complicated feelings of the night previous. There were greater priorities she had to focus on. First was her thirst. Next were errands. A new set of clothes were high on the list - tracking down Maximilian Strauss ranked equally high, even if meeting new people was one of the last things she wanted to do. Reactions to her appearance were starting to get predictable, and her patience hung by a thread.

Mary checked her phone as she walked down to the lower level of the loft - 8 PM. Plenty of time before Nines’ invitation - if she took him up on it. It seemed foolish to be so bothered by a dream, but she couldn’t quite shake it. More inconveniently, while her phone had an admirable battery life, it was low enough that she made a note to return to her Haven at the end of the night to charge it. It was probably a good idea to check her email, too. She hadn’t forgotten LaCroix’s warning - being late to any new orders was probably a bad idea.

She stomped down the apartment building stairs with prejudice, resentment coloring her every movement. Running between Santa Monica and downtown was likely to define her next several nights, if not more. As she stepped out onto the street (after checking to make sure there were no witnesses to the horror that was her body) she glanced back up at the building’s top floor.

Havens were supposed to be secret, Bertram had said - but the option was terribly convenient.

The dream of Nines sealing her away lingered, and drove her back into the sewer. Maybe she’d scout through them and find herself a hidden alcove to curl up in for the day. It wasn’t as if she could look any worse.

An hour and a half later she’d drunk deep from a security guard patrolling a parkade, raided a military surplus store and dragged her ill-gotten gains back into the sewer. She ditched her pale green cargo pants for a pair of black ones and managed to pick up a tank top made of fabric stretchy enough to be pulled around her shoulder spikes without getting sliced open. It snapped back to hug her torso, only accentuating her withered organs and dented ribcage - but at least it was comfortable. Black, too - she was tired of having to change due to blood stains.

Strapping on the kevlar vest she picked up was a much more difficult feat - her claws made any fine movement incredibly difficult and she was moments away from breaking off all of her shoulder spikes, pain be damned before she finally managed to wiggle it on. With an annoyed grunt as she snapped together the last buckle, she decided that the only way it was coming off was if it was ripped from her.

It felt a little better, to be wearing something she hadn’t had the snot beaten out of her in. She didn’t have a mirror to see if she looked any better - but she didn’t need one to know.

Lipstick on a pig, the saying went.

Next was tracking down Strauss - vaguely she remembered something about a mystical sun. When Mary peered down at the sewer map Bertram had given her, she was happy enough to discover that on a street only a handful of blocks away from The Last Round a sewer exit was circled with “ _WIZARD BULLSHIT”_ and an angry sun scrawled next to it.

A fifteen minute walk and she was poking her head out of a manhole - her sight line immediately met by an old and magnificent building with a stained glass window at its gable. It _glowed_ , wrought iron bent into the shape of a sun.

Bingo.

_Thanks, Bertram._

Mary hauled herself out of the sewers - the street was a lonely one and she was thankful for it. The building itself looked almost hilariously out of place, run down tenements built in the seventies flanking it. It was as if it had grown between them and pushed them aside. As she approached the front door goosebumps rippled across her skin, and her nostrils were filled with the odd scent of ozone.

She entered a narrow hall, stairs to the right leading up to a door without a knob, an archway to the left leading to a hallway perpendicular to the one she’d entered. Mary shut the door behind her and felt the air pressure change, as if she’d just been vacuum sealed inside.

“Hello?” she called out, finding that her voice seemed to die only a few feet out of her mouth. Sound was muffled - while her footsteps were normally silent, the building seemed to consume even the rustling of her clothes. Nothing felt real - she didn’t even have blood rushing through her veins or her own breathing to reassure her she was still able to hear.

Nervously she hummed to try and calm herself, pacing the entry hall. Mary squinted at the hall through the arch beyond - she didn’t want to snoop, but no one was coming to greet her. Was it a trap? Or a test? Was Strauss - whoever he was - trying to gauge what kind of person she was?

Therese’s words came back to mind. _He’s also Nosferatu, so he’s spying on me. It’s what you people do._

Maybe she was being paranoid.

Either way, if Strauss expected her to defy clan stereotypes he was going to be disappointed. If she had to sit in the deafening lobby any longer she’d go nuts.

The hallway beyond was wallpapered in crimson, in contrast to the mint and forest green of the entry hall. At first she thought it was a solid color, but as she moved the light caught shinier parts of the wall, revealing intricate and looping patterns that seemed almost mathematical. Mary reached out to touch it but thought better of it, the strange urge to rip it apart with her claws far too tempting. She didn’t like how her first response to beauty seemed to be a desire to destroy it.

_Not everything beautiful._

Mary shook her head, continuing down the hall. She followed its curves and corners, any orientation she had disappearing far too quickly. The crimson halls were a maze, the doors at its sides mahogany, evenly spaced, and lacking handles or knobs. Reality seemed to be repeating before her. At least the halls weren’t silent - there was a hum of energy, like an electric furnace getting ready to start - and if she focused, she could follow the vibrations. They became louder and louder, and after what must have been a half hour of wandering she finally came to a set of double doors inlaid with stained glass. One portrayed the night sky and celestial bodies, the other portrayed the sun - and a sea of flames. Mary could see a dark figure moving beyond, backlit by what appeared to be flickering blue flame.

“Come in.” A deep voice beyond called, and Mary opened the door.

The figure awaiting her was one that itched at her memory - a man in crimson with matching shades. He was hairless and his skin had an odd color to it - it caught the light in the same way the wallpaper had, illuminating veins running under the surface. It was oddly mesmerizing.

“Maximillian Strauss.” The man introduced himself, bowing his head politely. “Primogen of the Tremere in Los Angeles and Regent of this Chantry. You are in Elysium.” She tried not to look as if she barely understood what he was saying. “I was at your trial. I am glad to meet you in better circumstances, neonate.” He didn’t wrinkle his nose - instead he peered at her in a way that reminded her of Andrei. As if she was a puzzle, a specimen.

She didn’t know if she preferred revulsion.

“Mary.” she returned, lingering on the rug in front of the doors that seemed to function as a welcome mat. The room was a library, filled with thick leather-bound books, many labelled on the spine in a variety of languages. Some she recognized, some she didn’t, and some seemed completely inhuman. The thick curtains hanging from the windows seemed to devour the light.

Strauss beckoned her closer, and she took a few hesitant steps further into the light. “I’ve seen worse than Nosferatu in my years.” he said lightly. “My sensibilities aren’t nearly so delicate as you’re used to, neonate.” He peered at her over his shaded spectacles. “As primogen, I represent my clan and their interests in audiences with the Prince. How is he, by the by?”

So much for trying not to let her ignorance show. “Fine, I think? We don’t really talk.” Mary shrugged. Strauss was Camarilla through and through, that much she could gauge already. The Chantry (at least, that’s what she assumed the strange building she found herself in was) might as well have been another planet compared to The Last Round.

A planet that could swallow her up if she stepped wrong.

“I’m glad to hear.” Strauss replied in a tone Mary could only describe as political. “Thank you for taking time out of your night to see me. Neonates offer their own insight. Unlike some I am aware of the value they possess - and the potential. I have a request of you, if you’re not otherwise engaged.”

There it was - butter her up, then ask her for something. Mary was starting to learn that if people were talking to her, it wasn’t for the company. She got the feeling that if she spoke her mind she was likely to never find her way out of the maze of halls behind her, and so mustered up a polite smile. “I’m pretty free.”

“Excellent.” Strauss’ form seemed to flicker in time with the flames behind him. Mary longed to sit down so she could gain some sense of gravity, but it hadn’t passed her notice that despite his pleasantries Strauss did not offer her a spot on either of the couches in the room. “You must have noticed the humans in plastic suits wandering the streets.”

“I don’t get above ground much.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. My apologies.” he amended. “The streets are overrunning with employees of the mortal organization called the CDC, just as your sewers overrun with rainwater.”

“CDC?” Mary blinked. “There’s a virus?” Maybe she should have watched more of the news.

“A bloodborne one, yes. We have a plague on our hands.” At Mary’s stunned but curious expression, he continued. “I doubt our Prince has illuminated you on such matters - normally your sire would be the one to teach you. While Kindred are immune to natural diseases -” Mary wondered what qualified as unnatural. “- inconsiderate feeding can make us hosts to all sorts of pestilence. A lack of care can spread disease amongst the herd we feed from, and draw attention from their governments. A needless stress on the Masquerade.”

“How do you stop it?”

“Find and execute the plaguebearers. The last infected will die, and the herd will recover.”

Mary blinked. Execution wasn’t really in her wheelhouse, but she wasn’t about to tell Strauss that. “Do you have any leads?”

Strauss chuckled. “Leads - yes, like your modern detective novels. The usual suspects, I’m afraid. I believe the local Anarchs are to blame. They shun tradition, shun order - and one only has to look to see what becomes of their cities to see the foolishness of youth. They are most populous downtown, and downtown is where the plague runs thickest.”

“They’re happy to let humans die?” Mary questioned - she was having a difficult time drawing the same conclusion Strauss had. Unbidden, memories of Nines flitted into her mind - him laughing along with her at some mortal movie she didn’t remember anymore. Tossing popcorn at her for her to try to catch in her mouth - back when she could still eat food. Was he a man that could be so careless?

“Not all of them, perhaps. Their erstwhile Baron is intent on impressing otherwise upon us. However, don’t mistake his title for control. The rabble runs wild, and will bring hellfire upon us if something isn’t done.”

“Baron?”

“Their term for Prince. The etymology is old and complex, I won’t bore you with their belief in the distinction. The meaning is the same. Downtown, their Baron is Rodriguez - and whoever controls downtown controls the city.” Strauss explained dismissively. “I’d like you to make inquiries. Track down who of their followers is to blame. Tell them if they’re cooperative they’ll have little scorn from the Camarilla. We try to avoid collective punishment in these modern nights.”

Collective punishment was a war crime - that much Mary remembered from high school history class. Memories of her brush with Damsel came to mind - playing nice didn’t seem likely when it came to Camarilla interests. “And if they’re not cooperative?”

“Return to me, for matters will be beyond your capabilities.” Strauss didn’t seem to relish the thought - that soothed Mary’s nerves. The man wasn’t a psychopath. “Otherwise, follow the leads they give you. You have my permission to destroy those who are to blame, no matter their position.”

He spoke as if _he_ was Prince, and Mary wondered if it was a primogen thing or a hint to a hunger for power. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something she wanted to get tangled up in. Stay out of the fire, keep moving - _survive_. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You have my gratitude.” Strauss inclined his head once more. “If you exceed my expectations, there is a relic that has come into my possession that may interest you. I reward excellence, unlike some.”

That had to be a barb at LaCroix. Mary laughed nervously, and Strauss mercifully gestured at the doors behind her - they opened without him touching them.

“Farewell for now, neonate. May the night shroud you.”

“... thanks, Mr-”

“Maximillian will do.”

“Thanks, Maximilian.” Mary dipped her head, mirroring his previous action, and tried not to look like she was sprinting for the exit.

To her relief the way out was shorter than the way in - two left turns and she found herself in the deafening entrance hall again. Reflexively she almost tugged the front door open and charged outside without a care in the world, but the moment her clawed hand settled on the handle she remembered herself and opened it but a crack.

The fresh air was revitalizing and something of a slap in the face. The street beyond was empty.

Mary could have kissed the pavement when she stood on it once more. Noise, glorious noise, greeted her ears again. Traffic, machinery, the wind. She checked her phone.

Eleven PM. An hour to kill. The Last Round was only a few blocks away. Mary dithered, wondering if it was poor manners to show up early - then figured the Anarchs probably weren’t ones for manners either way.

How they’d react to her inquiring about the plague going around wasn’t something she was looking forward to, nevertheless. If matters weren’t solved, it was likely the Anarchs as a whole would pay the price for the foolishness of a few - and that had Mary creeping back down into the sewer to follow a now familiar path. Whether they liked it or not, she was going to help.

So much for keeping her nose out of things.

When she walked into The Last Round several minutes later, she was surprised to find the bar crowded - at least by the pub’s standards. Humans lounged by the bar, vampires she didn’t recognize reclining in the booths, dressed like punks out of the movies. Damsel and Skelter hung by the stairs, speaking in low tones.

Eyes of strangers fixed on her as she walked down the path between the booths and the bar - it felt like a walk of shame, a woman with tufts of fur creeping up her neck and jaw outright snarling at Mary as she passed.

Damsel met Mary’s gaze with a scowl of her own as she approached her and Skelter. “You’re early, Cammy.”

“I know.” Well, at least she was expected. “I uh. Met someone who wanted me to talk to you guys. I figured I should kill two birds with one stone while I was here.”

Skelter looked down at her quizzically. Damsel set her hands on her hips. “Yeah? Who’d that be?”

Better to rip the bandaid off. “Maximillian Strauss says there’s a plague going on and he’s pointing the finger at you guys. He asked me to be the messenger. Don’t shoot me.”

“He WHAT?” Damsel yelled, loudly enough to carry over the music and make a few occupants of the booth glance over. “I’m going to march over to Hogwarts and set that shit on fire, fucking robe and wizard hat motherfucker-”

Skelter placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fuck with Tremere shit.”

“UGH.” Damsel fumed, crossing her arms. “So what, Cammy, you here to tell us off? I can’t believe you, after everything-”

“No.” Mary interrupted. “I’m here to see if you guys have any leads. I don’t know much but I don’t think Nines is the type of guy to have this thing happen under his watch.”

Damsel looked at her suspiciously, and Skelter narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, let’s say I believe you.” Damsel finally sighed. “Yeah, we’ve got a plaguebearer on our hands. It happens sometimes - to cities under the Camarilla’s boot too. It’s not our fault. One of our guys’ ghouls -” she glanced over at the humans crowded around the bar, and Mary assumed they were ghouls as well. “- was looking into things, but he hasn’t come calling in a while. He lives in the Skyeline Lofts, I don’t know what apartment number. I’d check on him, except I’m busy trying to keep this place from falling apart.”

“I get along okay with ghouls.” Mary mumbled. “Okay. Thanks. I’ll check it out.”

Skelter laughed, to her surprise. “You don’t have to take orders like that here, new girl.” he advised. “Go ahead. Tell Damsel you think she’s full of shit.”

Damsel shot him a glare.

“I think people should take better care of their ghouls.” Mary said instead. “Where’s his master? Can’t he check it out?”

Skelter looked on with approval. Damsel groaned.

“I don’t know. It’s driving me nuts.” There was more to the story, but she didn’t seem willing to share.

“It’s not the only ghoul problem.” Skelter added, leaning against the wall by the stairs. “Since you’ve got such a soft spot - are you looking for more work? We pay.”

“Depends on the work.” Mary replied, thankful for the opportunity to be honest in her dealings. While she was fairly sure Skelter was equally as capable as Strauss was of ripping her in two if he wanted, at least with Skelter she knew it’d be quick.

“There’s this girl, been making a lot of noise lately. She’s the ghoul of this Toreador creep who disappeared.”

Toreador - Mary remembered Jack saying something about them being pretentious artists in touch with humanity in the worst way. They didn’t seem like the Anarch type. “Was he one of yours?”

“He didn’t like the Camarilla.” Skelter answered. It wasn’t a yes. “The important thing is he’s gone and she’s missing her fix. If someone doesn’t shut her up we’re going to have hunters to worry about along with the fucking CDC.”

Mercurio had told her about what happened to ghouls who lost their master. Depending on how long she’d been a ghoul, the woman could be facing a death sentence.

Mary’s sympathies must have shown on her face, for Damsel snickered. “Don’t feel too bad for her. You’ll see why.”

“Her name’s Patty.” Skelter added. “You can probably find her in one of the clubs downtown. Hopefully she’s not shaking everyone with big canines down asking about her regnant. This is why I don’t fuck with ghouls. Just a giant pain in the ass.” He tilted his head, peering at Mary with his glowing eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t overhear you talking about making one.”

“I saved her life.” Mary replied indignantly. “She couldn’t have been older than twenty five, I wasn’t just going to let her die. Anyways. I let her go, I didn’t abandon her like your Toreador friend.”

“He wasn’t a friend.” he said, tone one of warning. Skelter was about to say something else, but movement from upstairs cut him off.

Footsteps sounded from above, heading down the stairs. To Mary’s chagrin, Damsel tugged her by the arm back into the storeroom to clear the way for three vampires walking downstairs. Unlike the others they were dressed in plain clothes - two women who appeared to be in their mid 40s, and an old man. As they exited The Last Round, several of the humans at the bar and a few vampires in the booths followed them out.

“They give me the creeps.” Damsel mumbled. She gave Mary a shove out of the storeroom, toward the stairs. “You’re up, Cammy.”

“Who were-”

“Old school anarchs - from San Diego, I think.” Skelter muttered. Mary was stunned to receive a straight answer for once.

“Nines is waiting for you.” Damsel growled, sounding resentful of the fact. “Hurry up. Do me a favor and don’t waste his time, and I might stop hating you.”

Skelter snickered, earning a slap to the ribs from Damsel. Mary didn’t need to be told twice - she hurried up the stairs, footsteps silent as ever.

Nines stood by a table surrounded by many chairs, gently grasping the medallion he wore on a chain and running his thumb over it in a self-soothing gesture. He looked frazzled - at least from her recollections of what he was like. It seemed his guests unsettled him as much as they did Skelter.

Catching sight of Mary wiped away all previous emotion from his face - there was a moment of surprise and then a return to neutrality. She didn’t like it - seeing him out of sorts reminded her that he wasn’t the larger than life figure everyone seemed to treat him like. It made her feel a little better about her own uncertainty.

“Didn’t think you’d be here early.” he explained, walking over to the women’s bathroom and picking up a backpack that sat near the door to it. “That’s good, though. First things first - you fed up?”

“Found a security guard a few hours ago. Yeah.” Mary answered, folding her arms. Holding them close to her torso made her feel a little safer - looking at Nines in the light was difficult after the events of the previous night.

“Good.” Nines smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Whatever his thoughts were on the matter, they were obscured to her. “We’re taking my bike - the place I have in mind will take too long to reach by sewer. You’ll have to hide yourself - we can cover your face, but those -” he gestured at the spikes growing out of her shoulder. “- are going to be impossible to hide.”

Keeping the cloak of shadows around her while she ran down the street was one thing - holding onto them while jetting down the freeway was another matter entirely. Nines thought she was capable of it, though - and Mary wasn’t sure if she was flattered or not. “Worst case scenario we can break them off, I guess.” she shuddered.

“Worst case.” Nines repeated - he slung the backpack over his shoulder and placed a hand on the door to the women’s room, pushing it open. He gestured for her to go on ahead, and was met by a look of utter confusion from Mary. “There’s a window in there.” he explained. “Our _other_ back door. This way the gang downstairs doesn’t know I’m gone.”

Understanding dawned on Mary - he couldn’t be seen with her. She dipped her head sheepishly and walked into the bathroom - the mirror was coated in dust and the sinks were bone dry. The place didn’t see much use for its normal purpose. Sure enough, there was a window at the far wall - fingerprints covering the bottom of the glass. Mary heaved it open and poked her head out - a couple of planks of wood were nailed to the windowsill, leading down to the dumpster below. A back entrance, too. She skipped the ramp and dropped down from the second floor, landing on the ground with a light _thud._

After she took a few steps forward Nines landed behind her much more heavily. Stealth wasn’t something that came naturally to him, it seemed. He walked down the alley and she followed, catching sight of his bike leaning up against one of the nearby buildings. It was shrouded in darkness, easily missed if someone wasn’t looking for it. It explained why it hadn’t been stolen.

The block being the domain of the undead also probably had something to do with it.

Nines took his helmet from the handlebars and pulled it on - it was a modern design, muffling his voice. “It doesn’t do what my skin can’t, but I don’t have time to get in a chase with an officer who wants to ticket me tonight.” he explained, swinging his leg over the bike and pulling his keys from his pocket. “Get on.”

Mary settled in behind him. This close to him she could smell him - steel and blood - and she tried not to think of the fact that was probably unsettlingly close to her own scent of rot. In the back of her mind she knew they’d done the same thing once before - _the wind whipping through hair she no longer had, freeways passing them by -_ and she wondered if he was thinking the same.

A bigger problem presented itself as she reached out to pull at the shadows. “I can’t touch you.” she realized aloud. “It ruins the whole thing.”

Nines leaned forward to give her a few more inches of space. “I don’t plan on reclining.” he shrugged. “You’ve got your space. Can you hold on?”

Despite their twiggy appearance, Mary knew her legs were powerful enough to do more than just keep her on a moving bike. She squeezed the metal with her bony thighs. “I’ll be alright. I can’t talk once we get going.” Noise seemed to ruin the effect - she wondered if her powers made her actually invisible, or if it wasn’t just an extended play-act.

“Got it. Do what you have to.”

The engine started in tandem with Mary slipping into the world of the unseen, her stomach dropping in time with the roar and vibration beneath her. Nines revved the accelerator and took off - instinctively she nearly grabbed him as the bike lurched forward, but she found keeping her balance was much easier now that she belonged to the undying.

Nines drove through downtown - whatever nerves and discomfort she had melted away as she was granted the ability to see great swaths of Los Angeles’ heart. Mary connected the sewer paths with the streets above - Venture Tower stood like a great shining pillar, far outreaching any of the other skyscrapers. As Strauss had said, CDC workers were grouped outside a few buildings they passed - biohazard signs slapped on the doors to run down tenements. She couldn’t dwell on the melancholy the sight granted her, for soon they were passing clubs, bars, and theatres - shining neon lights reflecting off of the damp pavement and glassy buildings.

“Hold on.” Nines warned as they left the dense center of downtown behind, approaching a tunnel. The motorcycle revved and the wind started to whip at her clothing - they sped downward and Mary could hear the vibrations of a passing train above the tunnel. Streetlights flashed by, dull orange like so many harvest moons. It was exhilarating.

Street signs passed them by - Nines changed lanes to exit onto the freeway, and then they were truly flying. If there was a speed limit, it didn’t bother Nines - they blew past every vehicle they came upon, some honking in outrage. Mary had to work to keep herself from laughing. She loved it - loved how it felt like she was moving too fast for the world to catch her. The drain the high speed was costing her blood reserves wasn’t even as bad as she thought it’d be.

Maybe Nines would give her riding lessons, next.

Conscious of the thin wallet in her back pocket, she supposed LaCroix would have to pay her before she had a hope of having a bike of her own.

Mary looked back and watched the spires of downtown shrink as they covered more and more distance. It was the reverse of the ride he’d taken her on so many years ago, when she was a human fleeing danger - but it still felt like a wondrous escape. Venture Tower grew smaller the further they got from it, and so too did LaCroix’s reach seem to weaken.

The buildings grew shorter before being replaced by what seemed to be storage yards and industry spreading outward. Nines took an exit and they returned to street level. Half of the buildings in the part of town they’d entered seemed abandoned, the others commercial storage and closed for the night. It was dark in this part of town, lit only by dim and flickering orange streetlights. It reminded her of the street the Sabbat had attacked her on, and inadvertently she flinched.

Nines slowed down, the roar of the engine quieting with the reduction in speed. “We’re safe now, I think. You can talk if you want.”

The permission was a relief to have - Mary dropped her obfuscation and felt as if she was better able to focus on her surroundings. “What’s a girl gotta do to get a bike of her own around here?”

That got him to laugh - a genuine sound that made her stomach flip like it did whenever she sank into the darkness. “You really like riding, huh.”

“It’s nice to get some fresh air.” she replied neatly, then winced. “Uh. Sorry about that, by the way. I promise I bathe, it’s just… being a Nosferatu isn’t all perks.”

“Never would have guessed.” Nines replied - the visor of his helmet caught the light as he glanced back at her for a moment. “Don’t worry about it. If you’re going to apologize for what you look like you’re going to waste a lot of moonlight.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not bad.” Mary muttered as Nines turned down another lonely street. It was lined with near empty storage yards on each side, vast expanses of gravel - but in the distance she could see an old brewery, the sign for a dead brand standing rusting on its roof.

“I’ve seen worse.” he said dismissively. “The Camarilla might give you shit for daring to make them look at something that isn’t sugar coated and gold, but I know what the real world’s like.”

She didn’t quite know how to reply to that, and so stayed silent for the new few minutes. Mary fixed her gaze on the brewery, tilting her head up to take it all in as they drew closer and closer. It proved to be their destination as Nines pulled into the gravel parking lot, bringing the bike to a stop close to a double set of metal doors held closed with a chain. He pulled off his helmet and cut the engine. Mary hopped off to let him put the kickstand down. Nines set his helmet on the bike seat when he stood.

Nines’ footsteps crunched against the gravel as he turned and approached the chained door. “Huh. Humans must’ve caught wise, finally.”

“You take many people here?” Mary asked without thinking.

It didn’t cause any offense, to her relief. “It’s a decent enough training ground.” He grabbed the padlocked chain and took a lockpicking tool from his pocket, setting to work. “Pretty popular spot to play 9mm tag.”

“9mm tag?”

“Exactly what it sounds like.” Nines said with some amusement. “Tag with guns. Some people call it Nines. I shouldn’t have to tell you it’s a bad idea to play it anywhere near humans.”

“Is that where you got the name?”

The amusement faded from his face. “No.” It was all the answer he was willing to give. Mary settled for watching him in silence. She realized she’d seen the lockpicking tool before - she’d held it in her own hands. Human hands - and clawed ones.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as the padlock fell open. Nines tugged the chains away as if they were only twine. “I’m going to check and make sure no one’s set up shop here since I was here last. You going to be okay out here?”

“Yeah.” she answered, a bit too quickly - there was a momentary frown of concern on his features, but he disappeared inside before she could think too hard about it. Paranoia nibbled at her, now alone in the parking lot. The nearest streetlight spluttered, struggling to stay lit.

It could have been a trap. It’d be easy enough to ambush her again - the Sabbat certainly had no problem the first time. The distance between her and Venture Tower now was a frightening thing - she was far from authority, and if she was killed she was certain no one would ever find her body.

If she left one. Maybe she’d turn to ash, like Casimir.

There wasn’t enough time to truly work herself up into a frenzy, for after a couple minutes Nines’ now-familiar footsteps became audible once again. He stepped out of the darkness within the brewery’s ground level and waved. “Coast’s clear.”

Mary followed him inside. They were in the brewing chamber - a massive hall with catwalks lining its edge and gigantic rusting vats taking up real estate near the walls. There was a swath of clear concrete floor at its center, cracked and host to a few stains that Mary knew on instinct were blood. Some of the vats were riddled with bullet holes.

A training ground, indeed.

The hall was illuminated by moonlight shining down from large windows close to the roof and whatever scraps of streetlight made it in. The two of them walked down the hall until they reached the center of the room, where Nines came to a halt.

“Alright.” He rolled his shoulders and turned to face her. “How much fighting experience do you have?”

“I fought an eastern vampire.” Mary started to count on her fingers. “Took out a few Sabbat at the warehouse. Then… well, you saw how the thing on the street went.” She had three fingers extended, and tried not to wince.

Nines pressed his lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle his own wince. “That’s a lot for a newbie, but I’m pretty sure LaCroix’s going to throw a lot more at you.”

“You think?”

“You’re a wild card, kid.” he repeated his statement from the other night. “Either he’ll forge you in fire and make you think he did all the work, or you’ll die in the process and save him some effort down the line. Everyone’s a tool to the Camarilla. If you can’t perform, you die.”

Mary shifted her weight in an attempt to soothe her nerves.

“I didn’t come here to lecture you.” he muttered. “We don’t have much time. I’ve fought a few Nosferatu in my time - they’re dead now, so I don’t know if it’s a good idea to tell you the techniques they used. Let’s see what you do on your own. Hit me.”

She blinked at him. “Hit you?”

Nines nodded. “We’re sparring. Hit me. I can take a beating, don’t worry about hurting me.”

Summoning up the power to hit a friendly opponent was surprisingly difficult. Mary drew back her arm and lunged, putting her weight behind the sweeping action - and found that her claws met thin air.

“Your wind up’s obvious.” Nines spoke from her right and landed a punch to her ribs, sending her stumbling to the side. “You might as well say you’re going to hit someone.”

“You were expecting it! You told me to hit you!” Mary exclaimed in frustration, rubbing where he'd struck her with a scowl.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t surprise me.” he replied, approaching her. “You’re small. Take advantage of that - your movements are smaller, too. When you’re getting your momentum up use it to feint - lean on the side you don’t plan on striking with, and at the last moment pull your weight into the other arm. Try again.” Nines stepped back to put some distance between them again.

He’d still be expecting it. Mary frowned, trying to put the theory of what he’d told her into instinct. Again, she lunged at him, doing as he instructed - but when she shifted her momentum to the side opposite of the one she saw him move to put up his guard to the expected blow. In a split second she pulled her momentum downward, ducking under his guard and switching her attacking side again. Claws tore into the fabric of his jeans, and she smiled victoriously.

Then he brought his other leg around and drove his knee into her gut. It felt like getting hit with an i-beam, his limbs hard as steel. He sent her flying backward. She hit the concrete floor with a grunt.

“Better.” Nines said, glancing down at where her claws had made contact. Three shallow gashes were cut into his thigh, and she watched as they healed right in front of her eyes. Bloody skin was left in their wake. “But you could have taken my leg off. You didn’t.” He approached her and extended a hand.

Mary rolled onto her stomach and took his hand, letting him pull her back to her feet. “Why the fuck would I take your leg off?”

“They grow back, for one.” he answered. “For two - it’ll cripple your opponent. Aim to disable, kill windows are harder to get. Break down their guard and they’ll start slipping up. It’ll keep them from gutting you in the process.”

“If you go back to Damsel legless she’ll kill me.”

Nines grinned. “You can _try_.” His expression grew more serious. “But you’re not. You’re fighting like a kitten - you barely tore denim. You can do better.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, how the hell do you know I can do better?”

Once more, he walked away from her. “Again.”

Three more times she ran at him. Three more times she managed to leave shallow gashes in his skin. Three more times he sent her sprawling back on her ass.

Nines seemed to be getting frustrated, and it was mirroring her own growing anger. “If you’re not going to take this seriously, I should save LaCroix the trouble and send your ashes to him in a shoe box.”

Mary glared at him, pushing herself up from the concrete. “This isn’t fair.” she mumbled. “You’ve got decades on me - what the hell do you expect me to do?”

“Life isn’t fair!” Nines shouted back at her. “It’s going to throw a lot worse at you than me, and if the worst you can do is a paper cut you’re not going to make it. Come on, Mary.”

“Then _help_ me.”

There wasn’t fury in his eyes when he looked at her, despite his tone - instead an analytical gleam, as if seeing something in her he was looking for. “You’re angry.”

“No shit!” she yelled. “I look like a monster, LaCroix’s got me on a leash, I can’t fucking fight and I’m probably going to die, and the one person who said they could help me is just…”

“Just what?”

“You!” Mary exclaimed.

Nines approached her again, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. It’s me.” he said lowly - and with sudden clarity she realized what he was implying. _Him_. He could have helped her, so long ago - he could have spared her from the mess her life had become. “And there’s nothing I can do to help you. This was a waste of time.”

He pushed past her, walking toward the exit - Mary’s temper flared viciously and she opened her mouth to scream at him - only he turned again and slammed his fist into her gut, knocking the air out of her.

Mary wouldn’t let herself be pushed back from the impact - she sank her claws into his arm this time, anchoring herself in his flesh. Vitae poured hot out over her fingers, and he planted his foot into her chest next, kicking her off of him. Mary took a good chunk of flesh with her as she stumbled back.

Nines lunged at her, but now she had an idea of what to look for - she was small enough to duck and weave, her fury narrowed to a pinprick of white hot focus. She mimicked his previous action, planting her foot in his gut and kicking him away - using the momentum to flip backward and grant herself enough space to get a running start at him.

It was all a blur of limbs - she fought like a demon, spinning claws and gnashing teeth. Nines put up his forearms defensively and let her shred them, protecting his core. Blood droplets soared through the air, catching the moonlight - the sight distracted her long enough for Nines to grab her arms. Her body felt like a rag doll - he spun her and tossed her as if she’d weighed nothing. Air hissed past her ears as she flew in an arc, finally colliding with one of the vats on the far side of the room. Her body left a dent in the metal on impact, and she crumpled to the concrete between two vats.

Pain radiated from her shoulder - three of her spikes had snapped clean off, and it was only her intense fury that kept her from howling in pain. Nines’ footsteps echoed against the concrete. Instinctively she reached out for the shadows and gathered them around her before he could see her. She scurried into the dark.

Mary watched as Nines approached the dent in the vat, the shredded flesh of his arms starting to knit together before her very eyes. He stood still, gaze shifting from the dent in the vat to the splatter of fresh vitae she left on the concrete.

“You can’t run. They’ll hunt you like an animal, they’ll pull you kicking and screaming out of the shadows, and they’ll haul you right back on that stage for everyone to see.” Nines said, voice eerily calm - he was staring at the ground, and his eyes reminded her of blue flame, burning hottest. Mary circled around to his back in silence. “They’ll shine the spotlights on you, let everyone see every inch of what you are, and if you’re lucky they’ll just let your head roll like your sire’s.”

_They’ll see every inch of what you are._

Something in her snapped. Mary leapt forward, the shadows slipping from her, lunging at his back. Nines turned just in time for her to tackle him around the gut, slamming him back into the vat behind him.

“They won’t get a chance.” she growled, moving to throw him as he had her - and as she had, Nines gripped her arms too tightly for her to get the proper leverage. Instead she hurled him to the floor, dragged down on top of him as the back of his head connected with the concrete.

Nines winced, and she pinned him in place - her claws were digging into his shoulders, drawing blood, and her eyes fixed on his neck. Slowly he raised his arms to his sides, palms flat in surrender. He smiled up at her, and clarity settled over her once more.

“Mary.” he mumbled, somewhat dazed - staring up at her with those damned _eyes_. He blinked a few times and shook away the effects of the blow to the head. “That’s what I meant by try.”

“... you were taunting me.” Sheepish from the realization of how easy it was to rile her temper, she slid off of him.

Nines remained flat on his back on the ground, the concrete beneath him cracked, and coughed. “Your sire ever tell you how old he was?”

Mary shrugged, suddenly very self conscious. “I don’t know.”

Nines pushed himself upright - he looked down at his torn and bloodied clothes. He touched the back of his head and winced. “You hit like a methuselah when you want to.” he grunted. “You’re still sloppy.”

“Sloppy kicked your ass.”

He looked at her with _pride_ , and she was split between wanting to scurry back in the shadows and wanting him to never look at anything else.

“You’ll be alright, kid.”


	11. Downtown IV

LaCroix had something unique in Mary beyond what she was to Nines, that was fast becoming clear to him. The image of her sire was burned into his mind now - the creature that had torn life from her radiated power and age even kneeling on the execution floor. That power now flowed through his childe’s veins. Nines hoped that the Prince had no idea, that his arrogance had led him to dismiss her as he would any other neonate.

It wouldn’t remain that way for long. With every job LaCroix would send her on, Nines was certain she’d succeed. A week away from humanity and she already had the strength and speed of a neonate with a decade of experience. Combined with how quickly she was able to understand things, Mary would prove herself more than useful to the Camarilla. If the Prince didn’t already know what he had in her, he would soon.

Damsel was right to be suspicious - even Nines was having second thoughts as Mary struck more precisely under his instruction. With every learned bit of knowledge she hit better - now that she was aware that even at her angriest she wouldn’t kill him she cracked ribs and tore open muscle. He wondered if she’d strike the same blows to his people one day. Perhaps he was the instrument of his cause’s own doom.

Nines refused to give in to the paranoia. Even when she was suspicious of him she felt sympathies for the cause, and LaCroix wasn’t doing himself any favors when it came to Mary’s perceptions of him.

Unless she was lying.

But when he looked into those eyes of hers - so wide and earnest and _human_ in their inhumanity - Nines knew she wasn’t capable of it. Not to him. Not yet.

They spent the next hour sparring - and in a refrain Nines was becoming painfully familiar with, it was obvious that there would never be enough time. Once Mary’s abilities were revealed to the Camarilla, the danger she was in would multiply exponentially. If Nines knew how the Camarilla worked, she’d be thrown against the Sabbat and Kuei-Jin. A weapon and a spy. Every blow Nines landed on her was meant to be a lesson, a warning of what a lapse in judgement could cost.

Whatever she’d be thrown against wouldn’t be so merciful. They’d strike to kill. Maybe Nines was teaching the woman who’d be used to hunt down his own people, but he knew for certain in the moment that he was teaching the woman he once knew to live another night.

He owed her that.

The last lesson he gave her was unlocking the use of Potence, when he realized she was fighting on her natural strength alone. Nines took her by the wrists and pressed his thumbs into her deadened veins, trying not to remember when he once felt a pulse flowing through them. The skin there was still smooth, but held an unsettling clamminess to it.

He told her to channel her rage, to force the blood through her veins past his grip. Nines felt the power surge through her before she realized it herself and smiled. The one discipline shared by their clans - a single connecting thread between their experiences. Power and rage.

When she next struck him he heard his bones splinter before he felt them, and he knew he’d done all he could for her.

\--

They leaned against Nines’ bike roughly two hours after they arrived at the brewery, drinking from blood bags he’d brought in his backpack and healing the wounds they’d given each other. Mary hoped that she wouldn’t have to put what he’d taught her to use any time soon, but his warnings still rang in her mind.

She was a wild card. A tool. If she slipped up, she’d be killed.

Was he just talking about the Camarilla, or was he giving her a threat of his own?

Mary rubbed at her wrists, still feeling the phantom sensation of his fingertips on her skin. He’d touched her. Held her, willingly. Even if it was for demonstrative purposes, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. It was stupid and ridiculous, but a small voice in her mind asked if a man who could show her such a small kindness could be capable of such betrayal.

Nines’ phone rang, shaking her from her thoughts. He flipped it open, took one look at the caller ID, and grimaced. He answered the call. “Yeah?”

“The kids are here.” The voice on the other end was Damsel’s - Mary could hear every word. Supernatural hearing wasn’t something she thought she’d ever get used to. “They don’t mind waiting, but it’s getting late.”

“I’m on my way back.” he replied, blinking as the line went dead. Nines lowered the phone from his ear and glanced over at Mary. “I wish she’d give me some warning before she hung up. We’ve got to get moving. I’ve got people from San Francisco in.”

“I thought San Francisco was a Camarilla city now.”

“It is. That doesn’t mean everyone toes the line, and every bit of info helps. Hopefully we can get it back.” Nines slipped his phone back into his pocket and suddenly straightened, looking at her with interest. “You got a phone?”

“Yeah.” Mary managed to get it out of her pants more easily than before. “Why?”

Nines gestured for her to hand it over. “I’ll give you my number. I’m not always at The Last Round.” It took him some time to figure out how to bring up her contacts - she shuffled a little closer to him to tell him how to navigate the menus. Given his age, he wasn’t _terrible_ with technology, but it was enough to remind her that there was more time between them than his appearance would suggest.

“You’re not worried that LaCroix’s got my phone tapped?”

“If he doesn’t, the Nosferatu do.” he answered. “Don’t talk about anything on the phone that you don’t want anyone else to hear. The only thing you can trust is meeting people face to face, and even then you can be followed. Even places like this one.”

Mary frowned, the idea only feeding into her growing paranoia. “So wouldn’t calling you be a bad idea?”

“Nosferatu are spies. You could play it off to the Camarilla. Say you’re a double agent.” Nines smiled humorlessly and she wondered if he thought she already was one, serving the Camarilla instead. Nines handed Mary her phone back after he entered his number into her contacts then turned away from her to get his helmet back on. “But you’re right. You’ve got to be careful. The Last Round is the only place I can guarantee is safe.” Voice muffled, he swung his leg over the bike and settled into the seat.

“Guess I’ll call to try and track you down in person.” Taking his cue, she settled in on the bike behind him. Her thoughts on the matter were like different colors of smoke, coalescing together and fading, never something concrete or cohesive. He trusted her enough to give her the ability to call him, she’d be able to seek out his advice - but for what reason? Mary looked back at the spires of Venture Tower in the distance, once more feeling as if she was being tugged in several different directions. She shook her head, trying to focus on one priority at a time. “Uh, Nines? I’ve got to head back to Santa Monica.”

He was quiet for a moment before giving a short nod. “Alright.” Even with his voice muffled by the helmet, she could swear she heard a note of disappointment in his tone. “Where should I drop you off?”

Mary bit her tongue for all the apologies she wanted to make - they all boiled down to the fact that she still didn’t know if she could trust him, and she didn’t know how he’d take it. “Do you remember where the Sabbat kicked my ass?”

Nines nodded.

“There.”

They drove through the dregs of Los Angeles’ commercial zones. Mary wondered how many of the storage yards they passed belonged to Kindred, what secrets could lie in stacks of shipping containers. In undeath her perception of the city changed entirely.

It wasn’t hard to recognize the street they needed to be on - her bloodstains were still on the sidewalk. The place was barren enough that it was likely no humans had seen it since Mary’s vitae had been sprayed across the concrete. She felt Nines tense in front of her as they passed the streetlight she’d leaned against for support, much of the base of it stained a sickly black color.

Nines brought the bike to a halt in front of a manhole cover further up the street, connected to the Santa Monica sewer network. Mary hopped off the back of the bike and felt a twinge of regret, knowing she was stepping back into isolation again.

“Thanks, Nines.” she offered, unable to see his face beyond the helmet.

“Stay alive out there.” he replied flatly.

“See you around?”

A pause, then another nod. “... yeah.”

Mary watched him speed away, the engine of his bike roaring now that he was free to accelerate without worry of drawing attention to the creature behind him. She looked down at her hands and his dried vitae trapped under her claws.

That night she’d grasped some concept of what she was truly capable of. As she made her way back to her haven through the sewer network, she felt confident in whatever trials awaited her.

\--

When Mary awoke the next evening she found herself feeling something close to disappointment - after returning to the loft, any hope the deteriorating Santa Monica apartment had of becoming home in her mind crumbled. At least her sleep had been mercifully dreamless.

LaCroix had emailed her to request she retrieve a suspected werewolf blood sample from the medical clinic and stressed the need for haste, and Mary received a double dose of panic from the newfound knowledge that _werewolves_ existed and that the Prince had sent her a time sensitive email that took her almost twenty four hours just to read. She’d have to get some sort of bag for her laptop - sprinting back to Santa Monica to check her email wasn’t something she wanted to get in the habit of doing.

Breaking into the upstairs portion of the clinic presented something of a challenge, given that there were many doors to open and her cloak of shadows refused to stick if she touched anything. For the first time in her existence she was thankful for the hell that was her upbringing - instead of sneaking around her parents, she was dodging a security guard and CCTV cameras.

Each was equally lethal.

Still, she found success and slipped out of the clinic with possible werewolf blood in hand. Idly she wondered what would happen if she tried drinking it, but like a good employee she dropped it off at Mercurio’s mailbox to be dealt with. Mary knocked on his door after, longing for a chat, but found no response.

Having her options wide open barely two hours into the evening was not something Mary expected to happen, and she dithered in the lobby of Mercurio’s building trying to decide exactly how she wanted to spend her night.

Relaxation was completely out of the question, given the problems in the city she’d been made aware of. There was no way she could slump on her bed watching late night television while aware that lives were at risk. The mission Strauss (and, by extension, Damsel) had given her was probably the most important - but something about the job Skelter had offered her picked at her brain. Maybe it was because she was standing in a hall that had once been coated with ghoul blood, but she felt that looking for Patty was better handled sooner rather than later. Perhaps she'd discover clues about the plague in the process.

With her night's activities sorted in her mind, Mary exited Mercurio's apartment building and crept down the street, intent on entering the sewer through the manhole close to her apartment. Seeing the pawn shop sign on the side of the building gave her pause, however.

Mercurio told her she could get weapons from the place. While her claws were all she needed for the moment, maybe the shop sold other things. If Mercurio recommended it, it must have been friendly to Nosferatu.

It'd be nice to at least meet one person that night who didn't feel the urge to vomit at the sight of her.

After waiting for nearby pedestrians to clear the area, she slipped in through the pawn shop's front door.

The place had seen some trouble in the past, given that it looked more like a prison cell than a store. Shelves of merchandise lined the walls and were shielded by a combination of steel bars and what she guessed was bulletproof glass. The till was also similarly protected save for a gap to exchange money and goods through. A young man who looked to be around Knox's age sat behind the counter, reading what looked like a book about horror movie gore.

He hadn't noticed her come in. Mary tried to make her footsteps louder as she approached the till and cleared her throat to announce her presence - either way, the man was about to be startled.

Sure enough, he jumped at the sight of her. Instead of yelling or reaching for the panic button, however, he looked at her with keen interest. "Whoa. Are you here for the body mod convention? I've got a buddy who's really into that scene. Man, if you're going I'll tell him to look out for you. He'd flip. Those spikes are intense, I've seen implants like them but never anything that big. That's dedication."

Mary wondered how he wasn't bothered by the smell of her, but as she got closer the scent of marijuana overrode everything - even the cursed rot that followed her. The whites of his eyes were reddened. If she had to sit in a pawn shop all night, she'd get stoned out of her mind too. A nametag on his shirt read 'Trip'.

"Thanks." she said genuinely, smiling at Trip. It was tempting to go to the convention he was talking about - finding people who liked the way she looked would probably be good for the soul, but she was pretty certain it didn't last long past sundown. Not to mention that her wallet was painfully thin - tickets wouldn't be cheap. "I'm actually here for a backpack. Or a laptop bag with some extra room."

Trip bobbed his head. "Cool, cool. We've got a few." He pushed back his stool - Mary tried not to wince as the metal legs scraped against the ground - and walked to one of the shelves.

"Something sturdy." she added. "Waterproof is a plus. I, uh, do a lot of hiking."

"Groovy. Tactical, right?" he gestured at the shop's selection of bags. One was a branded backpack imprinted with designer monograms - both too tacky and too expensive for Mary's tastes. There were two leather messenger bags, one brown and one black. Lastly, as Trip had said, was a laptop bag that she would definitely describe as tactical. Along with a glossy black exterior and a handful of pouches in addition to the bag itself were a couple of hooks attached to the shoulder strap.

It wasn't exactly pretty, but it was perfect. "That one. How much?"

"Forty bucks. My pal Knox almost got that one the other day. You have good taste, my friend." Trip grinned, grabbing a hook to get the bag down.

“You know Knox?” Mary spoke without thinking, perking up in interest. “Kid with golden eyes?”

Trip laughed. “He’s not a kid, but yeah, that’s him.” He grabbed the bag and brought it back around to the till. “I’m not surprised you know him. Knox likes to hang around the weirdos - present company included, heh.”

Mary took her wallet out and slid over two twenty dollar bills. “How’d you meet him?”

“We used to go to the same skate park. Dude’s a wizard with the board, man.” he answered, taking the bills and hesitating. “Ah, shit, forgot about tax.”

She slid over another twenty and watched him slowly press the keys on the register. It was an exercise in patience.

“Knox is a good guy, but I don’t see him too much. Santa Monica’s dead. He used to work as a bounty hunter at the bail bond place here, but not anymore. Guess he got out. Man, I should’ve asked him what he’s doing these days when he was in.” Trip squinted as the register drawer opened, clearly having difficulty counting out Mary’s change. “I’d love to get out of here.”

If only Trip knew. Mary grabbed her change when Trip finally placed it on the counter and took the bag. Lingering in the shop was like hovering in purgatory, with the energy Trip brought to the place. “You’re young. Don’t worry about it.” she replied, standing awkwardly in place. It struck her that maybe he’d never get out of Santa Monica, that if she didn’t get ashed she could walk right back in twenty years from then and find Trip just as stoned as before, leafing through a magazine with grey in his stubble and crows feet at his eyes.

Would it be better or worse than the building being torn down for something different to be built in its place, everything that ever had an attachment to her fading away while she remained? Already the concept of time was making her head spin. Or maybe she was just getting a contact high.

“Thanks, man.” Trip replied belatedly, sinking back into his chair. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” she murmured, eager to get out of Santa Monica as soon as possible.

With her essentials stashed in her bag Mary made her way down the sewer paths once more, moving a little more quickly now that she was familiar with the route. The walk was long, water pouring down around her from the gutters. She should’ve picked up a walkman while she was at Trip’s, having something to listen to would make the trip somewhat more bearable. Mary already resigned herself to spending the following day resting in the sewers - with some fiddling, she might even be able to connect to the internet from within them. Two trips between downtown and Santa Monica was more than enough for one week.

Or she could sleep in the loft by The Last Round, with all it’s echoes of home and safety. The fact that something in her chest felt pulled toward it only made her all the more stubborn when it came to steering clear. Life, in her experience, was a difficult thing full of struggle. Unlife was no different. Nothing was easy, and everything came with a cost. Every moment of light had darkness to balance it out. She didn’t know what cost would come with leaning on Nines’ offered hospitality, but she wasn’t going to find out in exchange for some creature comforts.

So she told herself.

Mary forced her thoughts toward work once she’d crossed over into the downtown sewer system. Peering down at her map she traced over the nightclubs that were marked down, she wished Skelter had given her more information when it came to Patty’s haunting grounds. Downtown was host to everything from piano bars to industrial dungeons - ‘nightclub’ was a vague term, and she wasn’t exactly the type of person that could get away with club hopping. Halloween or not.

If there was a body mod convention in town, though…

Trip had given her plausible deniability. Perhaps that would be enough, if there was no way to obfuscate herself. As she walked through the sewer she recalled driving above it on the back of Nines’ bike, wishing she was able to see her surroundings on street level instead of relying on water stained maps and fading pen. Once she hit the main drag she clambered out of the sewer - clubs were concentrated enough on the next few blocks for her to have to move between them above. She exited in the backlot of the first club on the block, surrounded by dumpsters overflowing with trash. Mary recoiled when she saw the amount of used condoms littering the ground, and wished the shadows she pulled around herself were a physical shield as well as a visual one.

The first club on the street had its doors thrown wide open, and Mary nearly dipped out of her shroud from the temptation to let out a cry of joy. Even better, the place was sparsely populated - there was no line outside and no dense crowd to avoid bumping into. She’d lost track of time, perhaps it was a weekday, but even the employees looked somewhat confused at the lack of people, CDC patrolling the streets or no. The place wasn’t anything fancy - a box with a bar in it and a dance floor, playing top 40 with little variation - and Mary saw no sign of any woman attracting attention to herself.

Next on the street was a piano bar. Mary hung around the smoking area and waited for someone to return inside so that she could slip through the door after them - she was getting better at remaining obfuscated and playing her surroundings to her benefit. Like the first club, the piano bar was similarly deserted - however, one of the clientele was oddly familiar to her. Mary walked closer to get a better look. Sitting front row was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, with vivid red hair twisted into an elaborate updo laced with crystals and pearls. Her dress was red as her hair and dangerously low cut, leaving nearly nothing to the imagination as the woman leaned forward in her seat, enraptured by the notes struck by the piano player. Mary froze when she pinpointed where she recognized the woman from. The same woman was at the theatre at her execution - front row, as she was at the bar. The woman had recoiled when Casimir’s head rolled to the ground in front of her.

As if sensing Mary’s attention on her, the woman turned - and locked eyes with Mary despite the shadows she had gathered around herself. Mary froze. Laughter was echoing in her head, the awful feeling of others jeering at her as her death loomed returning, and Nines’ words pierced her all over again.

_They’ll see every inch of what you are._

The woman tilted her head and rose from her seat, crystals glimmering in the light. Regaining her faculties, Mary tried to flee to a darker area of the bar so she could retreat to the exit, but the woman was faster even in six inch heels.

“Please, stop.” The woman spoke, her voice low and enthralling. Mary ground to a halt as if someone had hooked her, and felt her stomach drop as her obfuscation failed her.

“I can’t be seen.” Mary replied, at a loss for anything else. Slowly she turned to look at the woman, paused six feet away from her, the same distance at which LaCroix liked to keep her at. Mary clutched at her bag strap in a vain attempt at anchoring herself. It gave her only the shallowest sense of stability.

“I know.” The woman’s eyes were the same color as the pearls she was dripping in, and Mary wondered if it was on purpose. “Why are you here? Does the music call to you? The pianist is one of the best in the city, but patrons of the arts are so rare, these days…”

Something about her voice was luring Mary in, and she didn’t notice the subtle way the woman’s nose wrinkled, the distance she kept forgotten. “I’m sorry.” she apologized and didn’t know why. “I’m just looking for someone, Miss -”

“Velvet. Call me Velvet.” The name fit, for Velvet’s voice was as plush as the fabric she was named for. “Your eyes are so sad, nosferatu. Your friend must be important to you for you to risk so much being here.”

“Not really.” Mary answered truthfully. She wanted to tell Velvet everything, to hear her voice reassure her. “That’s not why I’m sad.” Sad she was, Mary realized - melancholy had settled in her bones and Velvet had somehow managed to see it. A perfect stranger. “I’m looking for someone for a job, I was told she likes to frequent the clubs downtown. So far everything’s been a ghost town, but this is just the second place I’ve been to.”

Velvet’s mouth fell into an ‘O’ of understanding, and Mary was mesmerized by her painted lips and the glimmers of sharp canines behind them. “Then they’re at Confession, I’m sure. There’s a deal on cheap drinks tonight, many souls flocking to the old church.” She sighed dramatically, and Mary wanted to make her feel better. “Music has no hope of competing, so my patronage will have to do.”

A record scratched in her mind, and Mary was suddenly aware of the distance Velvet kept again. “Wait. You… you saw me. How did you see me?”

Velvet seemed as stunned as Mary was, though her surprise was caused by the sudden shift in Mary’s tone. Her pearl eyes narrowed. “You have a strong will, for a fledgling.” she murmured, tilting her head in interest. The action was catlike, graceful - and predatory. “My clan is blessed with sight. Sometimes our sight can pierce the veil. Be careful where you tread, little one. The shadows won’t always hide you.”

Fear seized Mary, taking her over. She sprinted for the exit, and this time Velvet did not follow her.

She exited the piano bar into the alley behind it, taking deep gulps of the night air as if filling her dead lungs could calm her. Any guise of safety Mary had over the past nights disintegrated completely. Even the shadows couldn’t keep her safe. At any moment she could be exposed. Obfuscation wasn’t enough - she’d have to assume she could be seen even when she dwelled within it. All it offered was an extra layer of protection.

Velvet was Kindred, and said that seeing into the shadows was something her clan could do. How many more like her were there? Mary wanted to scratch at her skin until it bled, as if she could peel herself out of her physical shell from the effort. Instead, she tore her phone out of her pocket and called Nines’ number.

“Mary?” His voice was quiet and low, but soft as ever. It washed over her.

“They can see me. You didn’t tell me people can see me.”

“... Mary?” Nines repeated, more loudly. Concern was evident. “What happened?”

“I went into a bar, I’m looking for a ghoul for Skelter, and there was a Kindred there, and she saw me. She _saw me._ ”

There was silence on the other line for a moment. “Are you safe?”

“They can see me!” Mary exclaimed, as if that was all the answer he needed. “The shadows can’t help me, I can’t ever go above ground, I’m going to be stuck down there forever, I can’t -”

Nines cut across her. “Where are you?”

“I’m outside, in an alley - near some piano bar, downtown.” she struggled to keep her thoughts in order, the animal inside of her howling at her to flee and tear down anything in her way. Panic had tainted the blood within her.

“Do you know who the Kindred was?”

“Velvet.” The name instilled horror in her. “She said her name was Velvet - I wanted to trust her, and then-”

Nines let out a long sigh on the other end - one of relief, Mary realized. It stopped the looping panic in her mind, replacing it with confusion. “Velvet’s a friend - she’s Anarch. She’s also a Toreador. They have Auspex, sometimes they can see things that are supposed to be hidden. I guess she got lucky. Or you got unlucky.”

“The fuck is Auspex?” Mary hissed, angry at discovering it in such a way. “Wait. Who else can use it?”

“Malkavians, Tremere.” he answered. “Maybe some smaller bloodlines. But not humans. You’re okay, kid. You can still go above ground, as long as you stay hidden.”

A whine escaped from her throat and she nodded - before realizing that there was no way he’d know she did. “Good to know.” she said weakly. “Are you sure she’s a friend? Because it felt like… she made me want to like her.”

There was another long pause on his end. “Toreador have Presence too.” he paused again, and when he continued he sounded cautious. “It’s complicated, but they can influence people. Torries like to overdo it.” His voice grew quieter. “Shit, I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”

Mary stared at the asphalt, dread replacing panic. His tone was similar to how it was in the loft. Regretful. Horrified. She didn’t like where things were going. “You didn’t want to do _what_?”

She heard him swallow. “Brujah know the same discipline. I don’t use it, never have - goes against everything I believe in.”

The phone shook in Mary’s hand. Velvet had made her want to help her within seconds of meeting. If Nines had the same knowledge, the same ability… the edges of her vision flared red, the panic from before settling over her with exponential strength. Nines said he didn’t use such a thing, but of course he would.

“Mary.” Nines repeated her name over the phone. “Listen to me. You have to be near the person for it to have an effect, and if you’re strong willed enough it doesn’t do shit. I know what you’re thinking. I’d be thinking the same thing. If I was trying to fuck you over, would I have told you at all?”

It was reasonable, but it was casting everything she knew into doubt. Velvet had said she was strong willed, but Mary had no idea how strong Nines was in comparison. “I don’t know. You didn’t tell me before.”

“I figured Jack would’ve let you know.” Nines almost sounded like he was pleading with her. “I’m sorry.” There were voices in the background, and she heard him swear distantly - he must have held the phone away from his face. “Look, kid, I’ve got to go. Are you going to be okay?”

 _No_ , she wanted to yell - she wanted to march up to The Last Round and tell them all to fuck themselves, but again the small voice in her mind piped up. When Velvet exerted her influence, Mary didn’t know _why_ she wanted to help her. She’d come to her own conclusions with the Anarchs, hadn’t she?

“Okay.” Mary murmured. She still wanted to crawl in a hole and hide, but for entirely different reasons. “Okay.” she repeated. “I’m okay. _Fuck_.”

“Yeah.” Nines murmured. “You had a good scare. I promise I’ll give you the rundown next time I see you.” There were more voices in the background - she heard him yell _give me a second_ before his voice returned to the receiver. “I’ll find a way. Get something to drink in the meantime. You’ll feel better.”

 _The next time I see you._ If he ever saw her at all. Still - blood would do her some good. Mary closed her eyes and tried to clear her head. “Bye, Nines.”

A beat of silence on the other end. “Goodbye, Mary.”

She hung up first. Working for Skelter and the Anarchs had suddenly plummeted on the list of things she wanted to do. Thinking of Patty and the other ghoul investigating the plague was enough to push her forward, however. Now Mary knew what it was like to be manipulated against her will - if she had any say, she’d help make things easier for the ghouls that didn’t have the power of the blood to make up for it.

Creeping back into the sewer, she drowned her sorrows with a blood pack she’d stashed in her bag from her haven. True to Nines’ word, it soothed the pacing beast within her. So maybe she couldn’t trust anyone. Nines was the one to tell her that in the first place. Maybe that was what the rest of eternity was going to stretch out into - forever uncertain of whether or not her feelings were her own.

Still, that ever-present voice asked if she truly believed it. Mary silenced it by taking out her sewer map and trying to puzzle out just where Club Confession was at.

The end of the street - a dozen blocks down. At least one positive thing came from her brush with the Toreador known as Velvet - Mary was spared looking into at least a half dozen other nightclubs and dance halls. She clung to the strap of her bag and weakly walked down the sewer tunnels, thoroughly discouraged from bearing witness to the neon and nightlife above.

As Velvet had said, when Mary lifted the sewer grate by enough inches to see her surroundings when she made it to Confession’s address she was greeted by the sight of a church - a cathedral more than anything, Catholic in design. Through the stained glass she could see flashing colored lights, and even from her spot by the dumpsters she could feel the vibration of the bass playing within. Her immediate surroundings were empty.

Mary crawled out onto the pavement and circled around to the church’s front doors, making sure to stick to the shadows even as her faith in them was failing her. Voices and laughter were growing louder as she drew closer to the front courtyard, and the scent of cigarette smoke reached her nostrils. Mary peeked around the corner when she reached it, and to her delight she realized that all of the club goers were in costume.

Something had gone right, at least.

The front doors - magnificent carved mahogany - were thrown open. There was only a short line, and Mary stepped to the back of it, hoping that no one would notice the cursed smell hanging about her. While she still got stares, they were curious ones rather than disgusted - a few of the clientele seemed to be the types to visit the convention Trip had spoken of - some had horns implanted into shaved skulls, others had their eyebrows shaved and tongues split. Mary’s shoulder spikes certainly stood out, but a woman ahead of her wore a set of angel wings that fluttered organically in the breeze.

For one night, she wasn’t out of the ordinary.

When she approached the doorman his nose (pierced not only through the septum but the bridge as well) wrinkled, but he only asked her for five dollars for cover. Mary handed a bill over, he stamped her clawed hand, and she was waved in.

If The Last Round’s music was loud, the music in Confession was deafening. Wailing guitar and and haunted vocals echoed off of the stone walls, the throbbing bass replicating something close to a heartbeat in her body. She stopped in her tracks, momentarily seized by the sheer magnificence that was the club. What once was holy had been made into a monument to sin - barely clothed dancers gyrating in cages hanging from the ceiling, the dance floor an inverted cross lit in red. For all the pomp and circumstance, however, Mary knew she was the most unholy thing within the building by far.

The place was packed. Posters hanging from the walls proclaimed a famous DJ had come to town and that Halloween drink specials were halved. No wonder the other clubs were deserted. Mary winced as clubbers nudged past her to make their way to the dancefloor - finding Patty in the crowd was going to be a challenge.

“Holy shit.” A man yelled from her right - Mary looked over to see a gentleman garbed entirely in black latex with a mohawk of metal spikes not dissimilar to the ones growing from her shoulder. She thought he was about to call for security, but his face was one of awe. “Who’d you get to put those in you? They follow your line of movement so well I’d think they were natural. I gotta know your guy.”

Thank god for the body mod convention. “Did it myself. I wouldn’t recommend it.” she answered noncommittally, raising her voice to be heard over the music - the man nodded in understanding.

“Body like that, you should put some of your mods in magazines.”

If Mary didn’t know any better, she’d think he was _hitting_ on her. The lighting in the club was dim - probably doing her all the favors it could. “Uh huh. Hey, I’m looking for someone. A woman named Patty. You see her?”

Instantly the man rolled his eyes. “Are _you_ who she’s looking for? She’s been here all weekend bugging everyone who doesn’t look like a square. She’s in the corner by the dance floor.” He gestured to a part of the building densely packed with people - several of whom were walking out of it towards the bar looking extremely annoyed. “I don’t know how she hasn’t been kicked out yet. Guess she’s paying.”

“Hopefully I can get her to stop bugging everyone.” Mary said at an ordinary volume - the man tried to lean closer to hear and quickly regretted it, looking like he’d gotten a whiff of the stench of death that followed her. “Thanks.” she shouted.

“You should get checked out!” The man yelled after her as she departed. “Subdermals get infected!”

With a lead, finding Patty was easy enough - Mary just had to follow the trail of people beating a hasty retreat. As she got nearer to the darkened corner of the club, she could hear a woman’s voice heavy with a valley girl accent shouting over the music.

“I mean, you probably wouldn’t know him by his first name - he’s a _super_ big deal, but tell me if you see him, okay?”

Patty looked as out of place as Mary did. Her jacket was leather and designer, her jeans tight fitting with elaborately embroidered pockets, but she wore no makeup and looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. There was a feral desperation to her eyes, and when she caught sight of Mary the desperation turned to hunger. Mary slipped through the crowd to Patty’s side and pulled her into a nearby booth.

“Hey!” Patty slapped Mary’s hand aside. “Just because you’re Kindred doesn’t mean you can manhandle me, you know. You aren’t even one of the important ones.” she sneered.

Mary’s nerves were too frayed to give her much patience. “Yeah, well, I’m the only Kindred who’s going to come and talk to you, so you’re going to have to deal with it.”

The conversation was off to a bad start. “No you’re not.” Patty replied with a scowl, trying to look out of the booth as if her regnant would walk in any moment. “Do you know a Kent Alan Ryan? He’s, like, super tall, hair the color of blood, his face is like an _angel_. He told me he’d be back from a trip to Hollywood but he’s like, totally late.”

Kent Alan Ryan. A name that sounded as if the concept of a yuppie had formed into a living - or unliving - being. Mary bit her tongue - the desperation in Patty’s eyes was one she’d seen in Heather’s, but with a palpable darkness. Instead of desperate awe, there was fear. Mary noted the woman’s hands were shaking. “Have you tried looking for him?”

“Of course I have, I’m not _stupid_.” Patty replied with a scowl, and Mary felt the animal within her stretching out its claws. Tonight was not the night for attitude. “It’s just, like, hard, you know? My head’s all fuzzy. Kent loves places like this, so he should be back any night now. He promised.”

It’d be almost funny, how a grown woman was whining like a teenager, if it weren’t for the fact that Patty looked to be on the verge of very adult tears. Her next question would decide her course of action. “How long have you been a ghoul?”

“A couple years.” Patty said with an air of smugness, flipping her unstyled hair. “He said he was going to Embrace me once he got permission.”

So much for Anarch. “I’m sure he did.” Mary muttered, too quiet for Patty to hear. At least a mercy kill was off the table - going without vitae wasn’t going to kill the ghoul. Time to try persuasion. She raised her voice. “I don’t think he’s coming back, Patty.”

“He has to!” she yelled, and Mary had to grab her to keep her from storming out of the booth. “Let go of me!”

Mary pulled her closer, violently enough that she was probably going to leave bruises. She leaned in and bared her teeth, and any petulence on Patty’s part melted entirely into horror. “I get it. You’re hungry. You might feel like you want to die. I’m here to tell you that if you don’t shut the fuck up, someone’s going to do the job for you.”

Patty struggled, but Mary held fast - her grip was like a vice, her body firm as stone. In the shadow of the booth, none could see. “I can’t go back. You can’t make me.”

“I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t told to come here to talk.” Mary hissed. “You’re leaving in a coffin or a bus. Make your choice.”

“You’re not kidding.” Patty said with sudden horror, eyes darting between Mary’s sharp and twisted teeth and the clawed hand imprisoning her arm. For once, Mary’s appearance was doing her favors. “I don’t know where else to go.”

A possibility sprung to mind. “San Francisco.” Mary didn’t know if she did it to spite the city that had apparently turned coward, or if it was just the first option that came to mind. “I bet there’s a lot of Toreador there.” It made sense, from what little she knew of the west coast - a city of culture had to be crawling with the clan that embraced it. “Maybe one of them knew your guy.”

Hope filled Patty’s eyes, and her arm went soft in Mary’s grip. She let her go. “San Francisco.” Patty repeated. “San Francisco.” It was like a mantra, one of madness. “I’ve got to see if I can catch the next bus.”

In a heartbeat Patty fled the booth, sprinting out of the club. Mary watched her go, wondering if all she’d done was make the ghoul someone else’s problem. At least she’d live another night. With any luck, the effects of the blood would wear off by the time she made it to the other city, and she’d be free to make her own choices.

Mary checked her phone. There were still a few hours left of moonlight. Resigned, she started the long walk back down the church and tried not to think too hard of what would become of Patty. Attitude problem or not, the girl hadn’t signed up for abandonment. Next on her list of tasks was investigating Skyeline Apartments.

The night was looking to be full of ghouls.

Given her experience with Kindred, she was starting to prefer their company.


	12. Downtown V

Nines didn’t hear from Mary for the next few nights.

He wished he had a chance to return to The Last Round as soon as he could. Unfortunately, the Sabbat were setting up in East LA - and like hell he was going to have them spreading their influence in a part of the city so dear to his heart. Sabbat packs roved the streets, reigning violence and terror wherever they went. It was undermining LaCroix’s influence, and he knew that if they weren’t dealt with the Sheriff would be dispatched - bringing hell down not just on the Sabbat, but the pockets of Anarchs that called the eastern part of Los Angeles home. Tempers were high, and it seemed like the entire city was spoiling for an excuse to devolve into war. Nines couldn’t discount himself from it - he wanted to enact vengeance for the years of pain as much as anyone else - but he was terribly aware that in the city’s current state it wasn’t going to end well.

They needed all the time they could get until the inevitable. Any aid San Francisco could offer was drained dry - the few kids brave enough to leave for LA speaking of a dark energy settling over the city. Rumor was that the San Francisco Nosferatu had dropped off the map entirely, leaving the city as good as blind, its Kindred withdrawing to wait for the other shoe to drop. It left them bereft of reinforcements. Nines prayed that whatever Jack’s reasons were for being in town, he’d be the weight they needed to tip the balance.

After a couple nights of hunting down pack priests and offering advice and aid to the local Anarchs, Nines felt that things had stabilized enough for him to return downtown. The Last Round was locked when at last he was able to return to it. Damsel and Skelter must have been away. Downtown was a mess of activity, as ever. He unlocked the front door and walked into the uncharacteristically silent pub - the lights and the music were off. The only source of light came from street lamps shining weakly through the blinds on the first floor, rippling and distorted by rain running down the glass.

Nines took up his post by the upstairs window, leaning on a nearby wall and watching life go by on the street below. There wasn’t much of it - the street below was barren thanks to the illness ravaging the downtown core. It was easy enough to lose time, frozen in place and staring at the near stillness, only disrupted by the occasional rainfall. For once he had nothing to do, nowhere to be - he could afford to wait, and it was a luxury Nines had to admit he’d missed. Hours passed until he realized he hadn’t moved - he may as well have been part of the furniture - and when he asked himself why he’d lingered for so long he already knew the answer.

He’d been staring at the sidewalk in vain hope that he’d see Mary scurry onto it, wide eyes darting to and fro to make sure the coast was clear before heading for the front door.

It was fast becoming clear that she wasn’t coming that night. Either she was busy, or she wanted nothing to do with him. Neither were things he could do anything about, but he dearly wanted to make amends. Leaving things as they were was like possessing an untreated wound - as more time passed, the infection grew worse. It was stupid of him, but something about her made him lose his head.

Maybe Mary had gone back to LaCroix, figuring that if she was going to be manipulated she might as well be on the side with the most apparent power. If he still had bile it’d have risen to the back of his throat at the thought. Lying to her would have been the smart course of action - lies of omission were lies nevertheless. Others would likely have chastised him for his honesty. He was kicking himself for it even though he knew that if Mary found out any other way matters would be exponentially worse. Nines pressed his eyelids shut and rested his forehead against the glass, the cool sensation soothing to his skin.

Wooden floorboards creaked behind him, and Nines nearly hurt his neck in his haste to look back. A glimmer of hope rose, thinking that perhaps Mary was just getting exceptionally good at sneaking around - but it was hastily extinguished when the intruder was revealed to be Jack.

“Hey, kid.” Jack greeted, moving further into the dim light cast by the windows. “How’d knocking heads go?” The angle of the light made him look menacing, casting dark shadows over his hooded eyes. It dismantled the playful visage Jack so loved to project, and Nines was reminded of just how dangerous the man was.

He’d long since given up on asking how Jack was so well informed of the city’s happenings. “East side’s under control again. For now.” Nines replied tiredly. “You?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Jack smirked. “How’s the fledgling doing?”

Nines tried not to let his frustration show. Jack was fond of poking at sensitive spots until they bled - the fact that he did it to force things to scab over was the only reason Nines didn’t despise him for it. “I don’t know. She found out about Presence the other night.” he answered truthfully. “It didn’t go well.”

“Hah!” Jack cackled. “I bet it didn’t. What, you catch yourself trying to speed things up? Convince the little cammy that she’s playing for the wrong team sooner rather than later?” His irises were black, staring at him as if the wrong answer could prove deadly.

“No. Never have, never will.” Nines replied, frowning. “Shit like that is how we lost San Francisco. People need a reason to fight, otherwise they bail the second the heat turns up.” A distant memory of a parable about building a home on a foundation of sand came to mind, and he nearly flinched to recall it. The sun was warm on his skin back then. Nines turned his attention back out the window.

“Smart kid.” Whatever answer Jack had wanted, Nines had hit close to the mark. “So how’d she find out?”

“Toreador.” Naming names wouldn’t help anything - from what Nines knew of her, Velvet wasn’t entirely able to turn the effect off. One of many reasons he never tried to use the discipline himself - once started, it was just another part of who you were, another expression of emotion. One that happened to pull others alongside. “I told her our clan can do it too. I figured it’d be worse if she learned any other way.”

Jack hummed in approval, though it sounded similar to a growl. “You’re right there. Explains why she sprinted out of here the other night like she was going to catch something if she stayed too long.”

“Didn’t know she stopped by.” Nines tried not to sound too invested, watching water droplets run down the glass. “What for?”

“Damsel’s got her dealing with the plaguebearer thing. Little rugrat axed one all by herself already, she’s after another one. You should have heard her when she came to tell Damsel what she found out. I guess she saw the ‘human cost’ -” Nines could hear the finger quotes Jack was making in his tone. “- up close and personal, like. Mad enough to give Damsel a run for her money.”

That drew Nines’ attention away from the window. Jack had a smile on his face - recalling the event was a source of some amusement. “How’d Damsel take it?”

“Didn’t have time to do much.” Jack shrugged. “Briar Mary stormed out after saying she had a second plaguebearer to track down. That was late last night. Kid’s lucky Damsel’s heading out with a gang of her own to handle one they’ve got pinpointed to the Arts District, she’s probably working out her aggression as we speak.” His grin grew dreamy. “Ah, I wish I could see it.”

Nines frowned. Mary was on a solo mission to track down what Damsel thought it best to bring a group for. Regardless if she’d already killed one plaguebearer on her own, it made him uneasy - especially as Damsel hadn’t yet returned. The worry was starting to uncoil itself, the familiar dread that had struck over and over again until the truce was declared. How much more loss would he be forced to see, standing idly as he was? Worry flared into rage, but he successfully smothered it before it could turn into an inferno.

“It’s getting late. Fledgling isn’t going to show up this close to sunrise.” Jack added, breaking the momentary silence.

Again, Nines refused to give Jack the satisfaction of a correct guess. “Guess I lost track of time. I should be getting back.” Driving through the rain would have Nines drenched by the time he got back to his haven, but it was a discomfort he found he welcomed.

“You should see if Damsel’s got anything that needs doing when she’s back.” Jack advised as Nines turned away from the window. “Doing some grunt work might make you feel better - it’s good to remember where you started from.”

Nines paused on his way toward the stairs. Jack had a point - once upon a time he’d been doing the same work Mary did, dealing with ghouls and wading amidst urban decay. A Brujah footsoldier building the Free States from the bottom up. Memories of swing music and bloodied undershirts crossed with suspenders drifted into his mind’s eye. He was young, then. Now the last time he’d bloodied his clothes was when Mary had torn them open with her claws - and the thought gave him a strange thrill.

Jack was grinning wickedly. “It’s my secret to staying young. Don’t tell me you don’t want to remember what it’s like to walk the line between victory and death. Besides, if you want a _reason_ for it, it’ll be a good reminder to the kids that even figureheads gotta get down and dirty sometimes.” There was a momentary pause before he burst into laughter. “Maybe not the down and dirty you’ve been up to -”

“Alright, you’ve had enough fun for tonight.” Nines interrupted, refusing to even think of what was being implied. Jack had made a low blow - LA had more than enough entertainment, but Jack always found needling his fellow anarchs to be a favored pastime. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and see if Damsel’s got something for me.” Assuming she still lived. While he was more than confident in her abilities, recent nights seemed to be intent on draining him dry. He started back toward the stairs.

Jack occupied the space by the window Nines had lingered at. “Give ‘em one from me.” he called over his shoulder, and Nines left the pub to the sound of his laughter.

\--

The past few nights were a lesson in pain.

First Mary felt her heartstrings torn at, witnessing the briefest of love stories. The ghoul looking into the plague was a handsome young man named Paul, and she found his body cold on the floor of his apartment. From the last message on his answering machine she found that he’d started a romance with a sex worker upstairs - an equally attractive young woman named Hannah, who Mary caught on the verge of death from the bloodborne illness spreading through the city. She listened as Hannah feverishly reminisced on how Paul was so _good_ , so ill she couldn’t even really comprehend Mary’s presence.

Mary placed a hand over hers and watched the young woman die. In only a few minutes she’d seen all the sweetness Hannah held, all her hopes - and bore witness to their severing. She drew Hannah’s eyelids closed with her fingers, and the next person Mary’s hands made contact with was Hannah and Paul’s killer.

The next pain was very physical.

Her name was Jezebel Locke, and she had a beauty to her that Mary could only describe as depraved. She was Kindred, and she was cruel - she wielded a blade that bit into Mary’s hardened flesh as if it was made of tissue paper. It was with pleasure that Mary let her rage free, that innate desire within her to tear beauty to shreds unleashed upon the plaguebearer. While she earned several knife wounds that would have killed any human and drained enough of her blood reserves to make even the sewer rats sound tantalizing, eventually Mary claimed victory. Jezebel’s body turned to ash at her feet - torn into two pieces - and Mary tried not to think of how different the outcome would have been without Nines’ instruction.

It was a hollow victory, for Jezebel was only the beginning. In searching the room Mary found the woman’s journal. It hinted to an entire doomsday cult spreading misery and sickness throughout the city, rambling about hastening the end of the world - and another cultist was picking his victims from the homeless.

Her stop in at The Last Round was meant to be a quick warning to let Damsel know that there was a bigger cult at stake, but when Damsel didn’t seem terribly cut up about what became of Hannah and Paul and casually told her to check the sewers based on what she’d overheard from the local homeless, Mary’s last thread of patience was severed.

While her other organs had atrophied, Mary’s lungs were still capable, and she shouted loudly enough that even Damsel seemed at a loss for words. She couldn’t stop herself - she’d seen humans treated like servants at best and cattle at worst, and it was an agony to witness when she was forced to lurk in the shadows and see humanity go about living lives she desperately wished she could live. A dozen days ago (or was it weeks? Time felt meaningless.) Mary had been one of the humans that were so casually thrown away, and she wanted to grab Damsel and shake her until she understood the nightmare of it all. Kindred or kine, suffering was suffering.

Yet her anger wasn’t _just_ about the humans, and when awareness of that fact settled over her Mary simply stormed out of the pub before she said something she’d really regret. With every night she was granted something more to horrify her, more knowledge that made the world crueler. She knew it - that life was misery and that unlife probably wasn’t any different - but now that she had power beyond her mortal comprehension she’d thought she might have been able to fix it. Every passing night taught her that it was like fighting the incoming tide.

Still, she faced the waves.

The next night brought new horrors. The second plaguebearer was Nosferatu, as she was - to find him she just had to follow the trail of blood leaking into the sewer water. Mary waded through filth and decay to reach a cathedral of rot - a giant cistern filled with decomposing corpses and intestines strung like garland. She nearly went blind from the smell alone - it stung her eyes and nostrils. Flies swarmed through the air, a constant buzzing. On a throne of flesh sat Brother Kanker, the second plaguebearer and preaching like any member of the clergy. He embraced his monstrosity, let his actions mimic his appearance - and he commanded her to do the same.

Mary realized shortly after telling Kanker to go fuck himself why Nines had fought so few Nosferatu. Her body was broken upon the concrete. Kanker was larger than she was and half-feral, in tune with his inner beast - he hit like a truck and fell into the shadows when she tried to get a running leap at him. He struck at her back, tore into her with his claws - at one point his teeth snapped less than an inch away from her neck. It was only by using her smaller size and agility to her advantage that she was able to dodge his swipes. At last she leapt onto his back, gripped his lower jaw with one hand and upper jaw with the other, and ripped them apart with a sickening crunch. She made his death as ugly as he was, wondering if hers would be the same.

Still, it wasn’t over. At Kanker’s throne of flesh was a letter from a self-proclaimed messiah and leader of the plaguebearers. Drawn in blood beneath the madman’s scrawlings was a skull within a red sun - _a Red Star_. She’d seen the same symbol by a sewer exit perilously close to The Last Round. The plaguebearers dwelled right under the Anarchs’ noses.

Despite draining one of her blood packs Mary was still a more frightful sight than usual by the time she made it back to The Last Round. Her pants were soaked with blood and tainted water, deep gouges present in her arms and face. The wounds were slow to heal. Mary climbed up to the pub’s back entrance in the upstairs bathroom window, unwilling to startle more people than necessary, and when she walked out of the women’s washroom she was greeted by Damsel’s trademark snarl.

“What the fuck happened to you?” she yelped. “Jesus, I think I can see bone. I hope the other guy looks worse.”

“He does.” Mary replied weakly, Damsel’s outright concern blunting any residual anger she held from the night before. “I’ve got bad news.”

“Don’t tell me. There’s more. Me and the boys dusted another guy on the west side.” Damsel grit her teeth. “We lost one of ours in the process. Fucking Gangrel.”

“Mine was Nosferatu.” Mary murmured, and Damsel winced sympathetically. “I think the guy in charge lives a couple blocks over.”

“ _Shit_.” Damsel swore. “My boys are still recovering and I’ve gotta hold things down here. No offense but you look like you’re going to fall apart if anyone sneezes at you. It’s gonna have to wait a night.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” Mary replied. “The longer they’re out there, the more people die. I’m going after them.”

Damsel opened her mouth to say something, but fell silent as Mary caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and her stomach dropped. Pushing away from his spot by the upstairs windows was none other than Nines Rodriguez, and he was approaching the two women with a grim look on his face. After a few nights of avoiding the man, she could dodge him no longer.

“I’m clear for the rest of the night. I’ll go.” Nines said simply, as if it was just an errand to the store. Mary frowned up at him.

“I said I’m tougher than I look. I can handle it.”

“Briar Mary’s right, Nines.” Damsel agreed - even though moments ago she sounded very uncertain of Mary’s odds. “We need you here - Vinny got blasted by the last guy, and you know he was built like a fridge. The fuck are we going to do if you’re ashed in some crackhouse?”

“You’re going to keep moving, because the Damsel I know wouldn’t let things fall apart just because an old man bit it.” Nines replied, rolling his shoulders. “Besides, if we’re on their turf it’s only polite for me to introduce myself.” He looked down at Mary, smiling gently with a hint of playfulness in his eyes - and she knew the way her heart softened at the sight was all her own doing. Nines didn’t need Presence. Mary’s memories did all the work. “I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind. Figure it’s your job to see through.”

Nines was volunteering to put himself in harm’s way, and Mary tried to guess what the hell his play was. All she drew were blanks. “Fine.” she said after a beat of silence, and Damsel looked utterly dumbfounded by the entire situation. “As long as nobody blames me if you do end up biting it.” Mary added defensively - and tried not to dwell on the little pang in her chest the thought summoned.

“I’ll try not to slow you down.” Nines’ smile widened. “Don’t let the place burn down while I’m gone, Damsel.”

“If you die I’m putting the Giovanni on the phone to bring you back so I can yell at your zombie.” Damsel called after them, as the two of them headed to depart through the back window.

Nines followed Mary into the sewer entrance near The Last Round with no complaint, and it was only when they were safely in the main tunnel that she spoke.

“If you’re trying to prove a point, it’s not working.”

“Who says I’m proving a point to you?” Nines frowned. “Nothing but experience is going to convince you I’m not trying to fuck you over. I’m not putting my life on the line just to get you to like me.”

It nearly made her flinch, and she realized part of her hoped that _was_ the reason he’d decided to tag along. “So what the hell’s got you skipping through the sewer with a tenderized Nosferatu?”

“A few reasons. Probably none you’d like.”

“Try me.”

“That brawl we had was the first time I bled in months. I’m putting my life on the line because it’s been too long.” Nines began. “If Damsel had her way I’d sit on a pedestal. Good kid, but she can’t accept that I’m just as expendable as anyone else.”

“Hmph.” Mary had to give him that one. She couldn’t imagine LaCroix doing the same. Assuming Nines actually meant what he said. “The ones I won’t like?”

“I don’t want you getting any more tenderized.” Nines said neatly - at her opening her mouth to protest he continued swiftly. “I know you can handle yourself, doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let you get put through the meat grinder alone. Heard from Jack you’ve been having a rough couple nights.”

Mary stared at her feet, listening to the water running alongside them for a few moments. “Maybe.” she admitted. “But I’m here.”

“You are.” Nines agreed. “Last reason is that it’s personal. They’ve set up on our territory. That’s asking for it.”

“There’s the ego.” she couldn’t help but tease him - it felt familiar, and was a balm to her frayed nerves. “Knew you had it in you.”

He chuckled. “Pretty small compared to yours.”

“Don’t push your luck.” Mary turned a corner and saw the plaguebearer symbol painted on the wall near a sewer exit, just as she remembered. It was an odd kind of graffiti, she’d thought when she first passed it - now that she knew the meaning she felt goosebumps ripple across her skin.

“I’ll see if the coast is clear.” Nines stepped in front of her and crawled up and out of the sewer. She wondered if he was just eager to escape the smell, but after a few moments he knelt down by the grate and offered her his hand.

Mary took his hand and found herself hoisted up in one motion - it was very nearly _fun_. He held her until she was settled on the ground, and she marvelled at the contact.

“That’s going to be a problem.” Nines said when he released her. So distracted was she by the fact that he’d touched her when he didn’t have to that it took her a moment to realize what exactly he was talking about.

In front of them was a crumbling apartment building six floors high, the same skull emblem emblazoned on its side. It was large, and even from the street she could smell the rot within. Jezebel Locke and Kanker dwelled in smaller surroundings. How many rooms would they have to go through to find the plaguebearer’s leader?

Begrudgingly she found herself thankful for Nines’ company. It’d make the work easier. “Better not waste any time, then.” Mary replied.

Things went to hell the moment Nines opened the door. He was first in, and the second he walked into the deteriorating lobby a human behind the front desk swore and opened fire. Nines took two bullets to the torso as if they were nothing - a sight Mary would never be used to - and was driving his fist through the glass barrier the human stood behind in the next heartbeat. He seized the man by the neck, ignoring the gashes sliced into his arm by the glass, and crushed the human’s windpipe like it was a soda can.

“Looks like we’re going in hot.” Nines looked back at Mary, still lingering in the doorway in shock. She nodded and watched him kick in the door to the building’s stairwell. A human woman was sitting on a moulding couch within it, and Mary watched her expression shift from confusion at the sight of Nines to utter terror when her eyes fell on Mary. Immediately she started screaming, but it didn’t slow Nines’ stride - he didn’t even give the woman a second glance as she elbowed past him, sprinting for the exit. Mary envied his composure.

The building was dark, the only source of light a flickering fluorescent bar at the top of the stairwell. It sharpened the shadows and gave Mary the sensation of them moving - she was tempted to reach out and grab at them, but knew she was better off saving her blood reserves. Trash littered the stairs - Nines was taking them two at a time, and Mary tried not to trip as they made their way up to the second floor landing. It was filled with more trash - enough to make moving further upstairs difficult.

It was quiet - a contrast to what either of them were expecting after the violent greeting at the door. “You got any idea where this guy might be?” Nines asked, peering into the blackened hallway beyond.

“No, but something stinks. It’s not me.” she replied, sniffing the air. “Follow that and we’ll have our guy.”

He nodded, and they crept into the hallway. Half of the walls were torn apart, bits of drywall and particle board littering the carpeted floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a dim blue glow at the far end of the hallway.

“It’s a TV.” Nines murmured, seeing the same thing. A shadow crossed in front of it, and he extended his arm to bring Mary to a halt beside him.

The shadow was humanoid, stumbling into the hallway in such a way that Mary thought it might be a drunk human. As she squinted into the dark, however, she realized where the bad smell was coming from.

Standing a few yards away was something Mary could only describe as a _zombie_ , and the moment the wires connected in her brain the creature opened its rotted jaw and let out a wheezing cry.

Whatever walls were intact in the hallway crumbled, the dead punching through them and shambling toward Mary and Nines.

“Fucking _zombies_? Are you kidding me?” she shouted, glancing back at the stairwell behind her.

Nines, however, was charging forward - his fist connected with the first zombie’s chest and sent it flying back into the far wall. It crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Another stumbled toward his back, and he spun to bat it away like an annoying gnat. “They bite like a son of a bitch, but it’s good cardio.” he called over to her, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

A zombie limped out of a door near Mary, and she was momentarily frozen. It had been human once - a man wearing a metal band’s t-shirt, now rotted to pieces. Melancholy settled over her long enough for the zombie to grab hold of her arm and sink his teeth into it. Nines wasn’t kidding - it hurt like hell, and sparked a reflex in her as if she’d just been stung by a wasp. Rage flowed through her and she swiped at the zombie with the claws of her other hand. Its flesh was spongy and soft, falling to pieces the moment she made contact. The sensation was startlingly satisfying, disgusting as it was.

“You want to keep count?” Nines yelled from up ahead, and Mary found herself grinning along with him as she covered his back, slicing up the dead crawling toward her. “I’ve got five.” Glass shattered. “Make that six.”

They were working down the hallway to the stairwell opposite - Mary’s claws were fast becoming coated in thick black blood and who knew what other fluids. For once she wasn’t the most disgusting thing in the room. A zombie lunged at Nines, and he threw it back toward Mary - she happily skewered it on her claws.

“Counts as mine.” Nines grinned at her, his clothes equally splattered with gore, and she stuck her tongue out at him. The action was a mistake, as she also got a taste of what lingered in the air. “Eight.”

Mary kicked a zombie hard enough in the ribcage to cave it in. “Six.”

So they counted, brawling their way to the stairs and up another flight. Whoever occupied the building had it so that each floor necessitated heading back down the hallway to the opposite stairs, but for the two of them it was far from an inconvenience. _This_ was the upside of being a vampire - Mary felt as if she was living in an action movie, gleefully tearing down assailants for whom death was a release. Fighting back to back with Nines was only icing on the cake.

Still, it wasn’t all fun - once they hit the fifth floor the dead seemed to be at their most concentrated, and the next time Mary could look over her shoulder she saw Nines growing overwhelmed. One corpse managed to sink its teeth into his shoulder, and he roared, grabbing it and tearing it off of him. She watched it take a chunk of his shoulder with him.

“Nines!” Mary shouted, and she sprinted forward, ignoring the onslaught at her heels. Focusing her rage, she willed her heart to beat, Potence flooding through her veins - and in one sweep of her claws five zombies were turned to mincemeat. The remaining opponents at Nines’ back were shredded by her next two swipes, buying him room to plow through to the stairwell. Mary followed, pushing off a zombie that had impaled itself on her shoulder spikes. At least they came in handy.

Once she made it to the stairwell Nines shut the fire doors, still intact - tearing off a piece of the banister to jam them in place. She could hear the dead banging on the metal seconds later. “That should buy us some time.” Nines breathed, looking over at her. His hair was dishevelled, face scratched and flecked with blood. Mary found that she liked it. “You okay?”

“Forty-three.” she answered with a cheeky grin, and he barked a laugh in response.

“Forty-two. Don’t get cocky, we’ve still got one more floor.”

“How are we going to get down?” Mary asked as they climbed the last flight of stairs, feeling exhaustion tugging at her. It was getting late, and five floors of frantic combat didn’t help matters.

Judging by Nines’ tone, he was feeling the same. “As fun as that was, I don’t want to have to clear the entire place out manually. If we can’t find whoever made those things, I say we crawl out a window and torch the place.”

“Can we fall six floors?” Mary asked as they reached the top landing - there was no hallway beyond, only a closed set of double doors. The level must have been a penthouse, back in the building’s prime.

“Didn’t say we’d be falling. You can climb, you’ve got claws.” Nines grinned at her, placing his hand on the door. “Ladies first?”

Seeing him in such a bright mood threw Mary back to her human days - _nights_ , when he’d sit on the couch opposite her snickering at whatever bad horror movie she’d found on TV. It was human of him, and suddenly she realized it must have been why he’d gravitated to her when blood still ran through her veins. Life and light were so rare any chance at fun was on to be seized upon, and what better way than to connect with humanity itself?

“I like your smile.” she blurted out, mouth putting to words a thought looping in her brain. It was half-mumbled, but he must have understood her - Nines’ grin only widened, to her relief.

“Almost forgot how to.” he replied - but his expression grew serious when shouting became audible from beyond the double doors, a cadence of chanting. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Sounds like our guy. I’ll run distraction. Same thing we did on the bike.”

It took Mary a few moments to realize what he meant. Distraction - he’d create an opening for her to sneak up on their opponent. Nines turned his attention to the door, and Mary wrapped the shadows around herself.

He shoulder checked the door open, and the two of them entered into a brand of hell Mary was now familiar with.

The penthouse was gutted, turned into a great room filled with corpses and symbols written in blood. A man stood at the center of the room, encircled by zombies kneeling before him. It was impossible to get close to him without touching one of them and losing her cloak of darkness. Fortunately despite the shotgun in his hands the lead plaguebearer didn’t seem interested in fighting.

Instead, he cut off mid-chant and dropped his gaze from the ceiling to Nines. A smile broke across his face - his mouth was smeared with blood. “Has the firebrand himself answered my clarion call? The Red Star has blessed us, truly.” He had the symbol tattooed across his bare chest, though it was difficult to make out beneath the grime.

“Last call, maybe.” Nines replied, drawing his pistol from its holster and firing.

It was as if the plaguebearer had turned to mist, materializing several feet behind where he once stood. “Gehenna calls, the blood thins - listen to Bishop Vick, for I was once blind as you are.”

Mary had her window. She hurried forward, intent to lunge at the Bishop - but her foot landed on the wrong floorboard. It creaked, and with supernatural reflexes the Bishop fired his shotgun in her direction.

The next moments happened in slow motion. She heard Nines shout as her torso was torn open - she looked down to see the meat pulp where her stomach had been, watched her vitae spray onto the floor behind her. The zombies stirred and rose to their feet. Bishop Vick lifted his shotgun to aim at her head, and she flinched as another gunshot sounded.

A bullet hit Vick’s arm, sending it swinging just as he pulled the trigger, grapeshot piercing the floorboards instead of Mary. Nines held his magnum in both hands, glaring down the barrel.

The zombies were fast approaching him. Mary lunged forward for them instead, ignoring the searing pain in her belly to make sure Nines was able to get a clear shot.

“Get to cover!” he shouted at her as she shredded the walking dead.

“Shoot the motherfucker!” she replied, whirling around to see that it was easier said than done. Vick was moving too fast to track, a blur of color - the next time he paused it was to peel off two more shotgun blasts, sending Mary and Nines both scrambling to dodge the blast.

“Fucking _Celerity_.” Nines muttered, backed against one of the room’s few pillars.

Mary hid behind another across from him, a low whine coming from her throat as every small movement caused pain to shoot through her. “Do we wait him out?”

He took one look at the wound in her gut and shook his head. “I got a plan. When I say go, tear the fucker apart. No matter what.”

Something about his tone was scaring her, but she nodded. Vick materialized behind them, and instead of moving for cover Nines lunged at the man.

“Go!” He shouted, grappling with Vick. Mary sprinted forward, flinching as two more shotgun blasts rang out - Nines roared, and the scent of vitae was thick in the air.

No matter what, he’d said - and so Mary dug her claws into the man’s throat and pulled down with all of her weight. Vick’s flesh was thick, startlingly hardy, but she felt vitae pour out over her claws before she fell to the ground.

Vick stumbled back and dropped his shotgun, his hands flying to his throat, now opened on both sides. More of the dead were shambling towards them. Nines stood swaying on the spot, watching as the Bishop gurgled past ruined vocal cords, before at last the leader of the city’s plaguebearers crumbled to ash. The zombies in the room collapsed to the floor in tandem, and Mary could hear dull thudding noises from below as, presumably, the rest of the undead lost whatever dark force animated them.

Nines’ chest had taken two point blank shotgun blasts, and looked like it. Still, he stood, hands shaking as he slid his pistol back into its holster. “Forty four for you.” he wheezed, looking over at her. He’d forgotten the handful of zombies in the room she killed, but frankly Mary was relieved enough that he was alive enough to speak to let it go.

“I’m letting you have that one. Tie game.” she replied, crawling to her feet. “Are we still taking the window?”

“Fuck no.” Nines winced at the thought, placing a hand to his chest. “Stings.”

“Hurts like hell, you mean.” Mary scowled at the display of bravado, but couldn’t maintain it for long. “Come on.” She approached him and looped his arm over her bare shoulder, and to her relief he willingly leaned on her for support.

“I’m out of practice.” he mumbled as she led him back to the stairs, moving down them as quickly as she dared. “Really am getting old.”

“Shut up.” Mary snapped, and he _chuckled_. Having to loop back through the hallways was proving infinitely frustrating - the pain radiating from her gut was intense and while her body was doing its best to knit the wound back together, she was terribly thirsty.

Nines was busy looking at the carnage they’d left in their wake their first time through. “Worried Damsel’s going to kill you?”

“If you die because you used the last bit of life left in you to tease me, I’m going to find your ghost and strangle it.”

“I’d like to see that.” he grinned lopsidedly, but thankfully fell silent.

When they made it back to street level, exiting out into the rain was a blissful experience. Mary had almost forgotten what clear air smelled like. Their roles from a couple hours before were reversed as she helped him lower himself into the sewer below, proud of the way her legs held fast as an anchor.

Nines was leaning against the sewer wall when she joined him - some of the holes in his chest had closed up, but he still looked haggard. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked older.

“I’m gonna find us some rats. Wait here.” Mary tried not to think of how bad she must have looked, if Nines was in such a state.

“Find me a big one.” he murmured, his acceptance of the situation startling her.

Six rats and a half hour later, they were limping through the front door of The Last Round - having taken one look at the climb to the upstairs window and in unison said _fuck that._ The pub was blessedly empty - though Jack and Skelter were lingering by the storage room and first to see the carnage.

“Holy shit.” Skelter said, sighting Mary first. His expression was sympathetic, and Mary felt a glimmer of joy at the reaction. “Holy _shit_.” he repeated as Nines trailed in after Mary, just as filthy and battered as she was.

Jack was beaming from ear to ear. “How’s that for bitch work?” he called over, cackling. To Mary’s surprise, Nines grinned back and shrugged.

Footsteps rang down the stairs - Damsel practically flew down them to see what all the fuss was about. She stopped in her tracks, and in a rare occurrence was apparently speechless.

“Problem solved.” Mary piped up as she and Nines joined the gathering by the stairs.

“Fucker had a shotgun.” Nines explained preemptively, anticipating the flood of questions that were to come. “I think he was Sabbat - the place was full of zombies.”

“How many?” Jack asked, eyes sparking with interest.

Nines pointed at Mary. “Forty four.” Then himself. “Forty three.”

Damsel simply blinked at the two of them, a twitch in her face. "I was wrong about you." she finally admitted, sighing at Mary. "And you were right. Those humans deserved someone fighting for them."

Mary beamed - even if it made Skelter wince from the sight of her teeth. "Thanks, Damsel. You're a bitch, but in a good way."

Jack clapped Damsel on the back, laughing again. "Well fuck me, I never thought I'd see the day. A night for miracles, huh?"

Damsel threw her hands up in the air and stormed off for the storage room. “I’m going to get you guys a blood pack.” she muttered, annoyed.

Skelter let out a low whistle, moving aside to let Damsel pass. “Don’t let her fool you, she was worried.”

“Was not!” Damsel called, halfway down the stairs to the cellar.

Nines cleared his throat, his smile sliding off his face. “Listen, you gotta torch the place. Cops find it and we’re in for it. You remember where those gangrel kids used to hang out? Same building.”

Skelter nodded. “I’ll take care of it before I turn in for the night. Speaking of - getting late.”

“Make sure you do.” Nines was emphatic - Jack had already gotten bored, and winked at Mary as he passed her on his way to the door.

All business again. Mary wished she could have bottled the brief moment of victorious euphoria - now Nines looked as tired as ever. Was the man she’d counted kills with who he was before everything went to hell?

He caught her eye, and she felt a strange tightness in her chest as they stared at each other. Mary felt as if she’d been granted insight into who he truly was, without the weight of the anarchs’ hopes hung about him. Skelter tilted his head, glowing eyes sweeping between the two of them.

Damsel returned with two blood packs in hand - Nines took his gratefully and drained it in seconds. Mary paused halfway through reaching out to take the one offered to her, remembering the reason she’d embarked on the plaguebearer matter in the first place.

“I can’t stay.” she mumbled. “I’ve got to tell Strauss what happened so he’ll stop breathing down your necks.”

Any goodwill Damsel had evaporated, her trademark scowl returning to her features. “Fat chance of that happening.” she said, setting the blood pack on the counter. She fished her wallet out of her back pocket and took out all the bills within it, handing them over to Mary. “Well. Here’s your pay.”

“Thanks.” Mary tucked the bills into her own pocket. She was terribly aware of how the energy in the bar had shifted, now that present company was reminded of who she was actually working for. Nines looked more exhausted than ever - she offered him a weak smile. “Thanks for the help, Nines.”

“Watch your back.” he replied, a crease forming in his brow.

The three anarchs watched as Mary took a few hesitant steps backward, then turned to sprint out the door. She left the blood pack on the bar.

“Can’t believe you’re more beat up than a fuckin’ cammy.” she heard Damsel say before the door shut behind her.

\--

On her second visit to the Chantry it seemed to guide her in - as if a force was gently pushing at her back, speeding her approach. This time the double doors she was guided to had stained glass portraying an apple tree - full of life on one side, dead on the other.

It was another study, though this one was circular with wooden floors. The walls were lined with bookshelves and a desk made of obsidian sat in the center of the room. It was bare save for a stone bust upon it, shadows flickering across its features thanks to a brazier hanging from the ceiling. Maximillian Strauss looked as if he'd just risn from his chair at the desk. His brows were furrowed, concern etched on his face - and given how stony he had been on their last meeting, he must have been positively distressed.

“Neonate.” he greeted, inclining his head. “My agents have noted a drop in new cases. I presume you’ve been successful in your hunt?”

“Yeah.” Mary pulled the letter she’d found in Brother Kanker’s lair and handed it over to Strauss, who looked it over with a frown.

“A doomsday cult?”

“Not the anarchs.” Saying it was a relief, and she had to admit that despite the grievous wound she’d received the entire venture went as well as she could have hoped. No more innocent humans would fall victim to the plague, and the anarchs had their reputation saved. “Their leader’s ash.”

Strauss looked disappointed, but nodded nevertheless, setting the sheet of paper on his desk. “Well done. You’ve more than earned your reward. I offer you two things - first, the physical.” He opened a drawer of his desk and withdrew a necklace - for one ridiculous moment Mary thought he meant to reward her with _jewelry_ , until he held it out for her at arm’s length (always keeping his distance, as everyone else did) and it caught the firelight.

The pendant was blood, liquid but trapped in a cohesive shape. Mary pulled the cord over her neck, and it hummed with energy. It fell in tune with the vitae within her, and the wound in her gut further bound together.

“The Bloodstar.” Strauss explained. “A curious relic - it replicates the effects of a thaumaturgical cantrip, subtly increasing the efficiency of your vitae.”

It was beautiful, in a strange way - and it felt as if it didn’t belong on someone like her. Mary simply nodded.

“Your second reward.” he continued, approaching the stone bust and laying his palm on the crown of its head. “I am fond of this sculpture. It’s a masterwork - it portrays a learned scholar of our clan. Handsome, flawless - a face you can trust.” Strauss looked over at Mary, as if to ensure she was still listening.

“There’s more to it.” she stated more than asked, certain that Strauss wasn’t the type to keep a handsome man’s face on his desk for the sake of it. He smiled approvingly.

“Yes.” Strauss snapped his fingers, and the brazier above was extinguished, casting the study into pitch darkness.

Immediately Mary was set on edge, expecting an attack or worse. Willingly she’d walked into the lion’s den, and now she was going to pay for it - Skelter had said not to fuck with Tremere shit, and she was about to learn why.

“Do not fear, neonate.” Strauss’ voice cut through the darkness, and a dim red light filled the room - ambient, with no known source. The tremere primogen stood where he had before the room went dark, his hand on the bust - but no longer was a handsome man portrayed in the stone.

Instead rot was displayed in sculpture, tangles of black running through the white marble like tainted veins. It was the man from before with the veil peeled away, and Mary found herself both terrified and fascinated by the sight.

“My second gift to you is knowledge. This scholar was a diablerist - do you know the meaning of the word?”

Mary nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the sculpture - unable to speak.

“Behind even the most perfect faces dwell the greatest sins. We are what we are in the dark, neonate.” Strauss released his grip on the sculpture, and Mary was able to tear her eyes away from it at last. When she looked at the elder, he appeared precisely as he had in the light. He snapped his fingers again, and the brazier above reignited. “It is the first lesson I impress upon my students.” Judging by his tone, he believed it an honor to grant Mary the same knowledge.

Mary squinted in the sudden light, uncertain of what to make of the lesson. Who was he warning her of? The face of every Kindred she met seemed to be perfect - excepting the nosferatu and Jack. Even Strauss had a strange alien appeal to him. Maybe, like Nines, he wanted her to know that her trust should be a precious and rare thing. “Thank you.” she said politely.

He smiled. With a gesture of his hand, the door behind Mary opened. “Send the Prince my regards.”

The warning had a target, she realized as she saw the glint of meaning in Strauss’ shaded eyes. In spite of herself she managed an awkward little bow before hurrying out of the Chantry, desperate once again for clear air.

LaCroix. Strauss had felt it necessary to warn her of LaCroix - to mention _diablerie_ only a few minutes before - and it sent ripples of paranoia through her.

The moment she stepped out into the night air, her phone rang. Mary dug it out of her pocket and held it to her ear, wincing to hear the voice on the other end.

“Fledgling. Please meet me as soon as you wake tomorrow. This matter is urgent.”

She looked to the slowly lightening sky and winced.

LaCroix. For a few short days, she’d been free - and now her leash was pulled on once again. Now she had even more reason to dread the man who held it.

“Yes, sir.”


	13. The Museum

Excitement was not an emotion Sebastian LaCroix was familiar with.

Navigating it left him in uncharted waters - it brought back glimmers of youth, the pride swelling within him when he first went to war all those centuries ago. He’d paced his office thrice over, tapped his fingers against his desk, tried and failed to read banal reports from his agents. After years of struggle, of indignity, of being perpetually underestimated - at last, opportunity had come knocking at his door.

Yet even on the eve of his ascension difficulties arose. The attack on the Dane (the _awakening_ , he was more inclined to suspect) had kept the sarcophagus in limbo far too long for his tastes, but at last - _at last_ , his bounty was in his city.

A new future awaited. One where he’d never feel a boot on his neck again.

His Sheriff was ferreting out the home of the Sabbat, and not even the silence the local Nosferatu seemed to have fallen into could dampen his spirits.

The fledgling - _Mary_ , he reminded himself - arrived early that night, as instructed. LaCroix could appreciate her obedience, if not the sight of her - as with all of her ilk she was malformed and thick with the scent of death, and it was only the etiquette that may as well have been written in his bones that kept him from raising his handkerchief to his face in an attempt to save his nostrils.

The girl was not fond of working for him, but custom had her trapped. She’d done work for the Camarilla of her own accord, however - or so Strauss believed.

LaCroix knew better. His agents - her own clan - had seen her dipping in and out of The Last Round at a rate that suggested she’d done more than follow his instruction to parley. All according to plan. The youth were predictable, and Rodriguez had a talent for pulling their strings. An innate likeability. LaCroix would never admit to envying the man, but _likeable_ was not a word many used to describe him. Clever, manipulative, cunning - diplomatic, perhaps, but never likeable.

“Sir.” The fledgling greeted him, looking hesitant as she had their last meeting. Her eyes were large as ever, gleaming white even sunken so far into her skull, and as she looked up at him LaCroix wondered if she was aware of just how much emotion they betrayed. In that moment, they glimmered with fear.

Good.

“Fledgling.” LaCroix returned, circling his desk. “I have a few matters to speak of with you. Maximilian Strauss left a letter on my doorstep singing your praises - ah.” His eyes fell on the red pendant hanging from her neck, the blood within perpetually flowing. “It seems he’s seen fit to reward you already.”

“Did you know?” Mary asked, with a bite to her tone he hadn’t expected.

He looked at her blankly. “You’ll have to elaborate.”

“About the plague.”

“Of course.” LaCroix waved his hand dismissively. “Strauss was looking into matters on my behalf. A trifling concern, though with the potential to grow dangerous. My faith in him was well placed.” He gestured at her. “Seeing as how you’ve put an end to things.”

“People were dying.”

The statement was so ridiculous he had to bite back a laugh - the earnestness in her eyes was tragically comical. Such a phrase spoken through such mangled teeth. He let his hand trail across the polished surface of his desk, buying time to collect himself. “It’s something humans have a terrible habit of doing. Are there any other obvious facts you seek to enlighten me with?”

At once, she deflated, shrinking back in on herself and returning to looking at him with an unmasked wariness.

He returned her silence with a polite smile. “Now then - how did your audience with Rodriguez go?”

There it was - that momentary crystallization of fear, sharp as a blade’s edge in those wide eyes of hers. His suppositions were correct - and LaCroix so loved to be proven right.

“He’s very different, compared to the Kindred I’ve met.” Mary glanced at her feet and gave a noncommittal shrug. The best lies were always the most truthful.

“Kind, dare you say?” LaCroix’s smile widened, and he was certain his canines glinted in the candlelight.

Mary looked back up at him and pressed her lips together before she spoke. “Yes.”

“You need not worry about admitting the truth. I’m well aware of his nature - you’d be far from the first fledgling following his siren song. If matters continue as they are, you’ll be far from the last fledgling as well, I suspect.”

It produced the desired result - uncertainty, a further hunch of her shoulders. He noted that a few of the spikes protruding from her left shoulder had been snapped off. The girl held his gaze despite her body language screaming that she wanted to be anywhere but where she currently stood.

LaCroix softened his smile - or tried to, at least. Rudimentary manners of manipulation weren’t in his realm of comfort, and he hadn’t his Sheriff behind him to ease his nerves. “I didn’t send you into the lion’s den to test you, fledgling. Merely to remind you that even serpents speak in honeyed tones.”

“Mm.” she hummed, fidgeting. She’d been told such already - she looked like a bored child hearing a lecture constantly refrained. The most important lesson of being Kindred, one they’d all learned to their suffering.

Trust should be forgotten. He didn’t wish to remember how he’d been taught the principle.

Better things were at hand. Greater things.

“Now - I trust you’ve assumed the reason I’ve called you here has to do with the sarcophagus. You’d be correct.” LaCroix circled back around his desk and sat down in the masterwork chair behind it. “It has been brought to the Museum of Natural History. In your short time you’ve proven to be quite indispensable to me, so I’m entrusting you with this delicate matter.”

Mary blinked and looked back to her feet. Praise discomforted her. “Yes, sir.”

No questions. If Rodriguez puppeteered her, he’d not given her his distaste for authority. Refreshing. “It is imperative the sarcophagus is placed in Camarilla custody before superstition tears the city apart. Mercurio will be waiting by the loading dock with a truck - find the sarcophagus, bring it to him, and return to me. I trust I don’t need to remind you that turning the museum into a slaughterhouse will bring dire consequences.” He opened his desk drawer and took out the key within, sliding it across the surface toward Mary. “Here is the key to the front door.”

She quickly stepped up to his desk and took the key, returning to her spot six feet away shortly after. Well versed in what was expected of her. It was a pity the nosferatu had gotten to her first.

“The manifest from the Dane shows that there was a small box from the same dig onboard, but it was listed as missing.” he continued. “It may have been overlooked - see if you can find information on it, but the sarcophagus is paramount. It is crucial we get it into our possession in the next few hours.” How crucial, the fledgling could not even begin to comprehend. LaCroix hoped repeating himself would get a shade of its importance across.

“Always liked museums.” Mary said quietly, more to herself than anything. A shade of insight he found himself wanting to chase - knowledge was power. He’d have all the time in the world soon enough. She cleared her throat and nodded. “You got it.”

“One last thing.” LaCroix nearly grinned to see the way her body winced, even if her face didn’t. The girl was as subtle as a train wreck when it came to her body language, no matter how her words tried to save face. “Beaumont will have your pay from your work on the Dane. My apologies for the delay. It seems you’ve found new equipment for yourself nevertheless.” She certainly looked less of a fright than before, her span of sickening skin covered as best she could manage. “Spend it however you please.” A reminder of Camarilla resources would serve to water the seed of doubt in her mind. He’d hate to see her wasted on the anarchs. “You’re dismissed.”

Mary’s relief was palpable, yet still she attempted an awkward little bow. LaCroix tried to imagine her curtseying, and nearly smiled to recall how his governess would have despaired at such a sight. She departed his office without another word, and when the door shut behind her he slouched back in his chair.

Only a few more hours. He should savor the banality of them - for soon his world was about to change.

 _Soon_.

It’d been his refrain for decades.

\--

Nines stood on the balcony of the loft with his head in his hands. The rain was soaking him to the bone, but he didn’t care.

He wanted to go back. Desperately so. For a few minutes in the plagued apartment building, it had been as if the years had never passed - Mary was laughing, and so was he, and there was nothing they couldn’t do.

Until he saw her take a shotgun to the gut and watched her vitae splatter across the floorboards. Then she’d retreated when they should have celebrated their victory. Reality reigned.

Things would never be as they were. It was a dream, forever lost in time - and her damned _eyes_ would always remind him of the brief moment he’d thought things could be different. Brighter. Kinder.

Taunting him. The beast within him hated her for it, snarled at the reminder that the humanity he tried to cling to was slipping through his fingers. She was within the Camarilla’s grasp, obeying because she had no other choice - or so he hoped. Trapped again, and this time he couldn’t open his door to her and offer her safe haven - not when she refused to enter.

It was best to forget. To seal another part of himself away, like so many others - but it was impossible when so much of her was written into his surroundings. When she kept trying to do some good in spite of the hand she’d been dealt.

Mary was a weak point, and one he couldn’t patch over. It was only a matter of time until the wrong person knew.

Then what would become of them?

\--

Mary spent some of her pay the moment she’d gotten it, retrieving a couple blood bags from Beaumont - to the ghoul’s displeasure. She was certain she smelled worse than ever - she’d spent the day huddled in a desolate corner of downtown’s sewer system, and woke to a rat nibbling on her pant leg. The breadth of the desk between her and LaCroix’s ghoul wasn’t enough to save the poor man from any unpleasantries. Again, she tried to smooth it over with her thanks and a smile - but by then she knew there really wasn’t any way to make up for the offense that was her presence.

It was a necessary evil. If the museum was anything like the Elizabeth Dane, she’d be exhausting her blood reserves keeping herself hidden.

To her own resignation, she was getting fond of the sewers. Mary liked the solitude, and it was nicer when it was raining. They echoed with the sound of flowing water, and she tried her best not to think of what _else_ was flowing down their channels. At least she’d become scent blind to the experience.

Most importantly, down in the dark tunnels she couldn’t be seen. Her only company were the rats, and they had no care for what she looked or smelled like. They didn’t even run from her. Mary felt a pang of guilt every time feeding upon the poor things proved necessary, and while part of her told her not to grow fond of the creatures and instead view them as the vessels they were, she knew that path was a slippery slope.

Would they make good pets, she wondered. Having some consistent company would be nice. Someone that wouldn’t wince when she talked, that had no stake in whatever great game she’d been caught up in. In the back of her mind she supposed that was why ghouls existed. In any case - she moved around too much. Having a pet required a home, and she didn’t trust either of the havens offered to her.

The Museum of Natural History didn’t have a marker scrawled on the sewer map Bertram had given her. Instead she had to stand beneath a grate and tilt the paper so that the streetlights above could illuminate it enough for her to make out the small text printed upon it. To her relief it wasn’t terribly far, only a few miles south of the downtown core - but seeing it surrounded by the university and other museums was a sad reminder of what was now forever missing in her life. Getting a degree was useless now, and it wasn’t as if she could visit anything during open hours.

Mary squinted her eyes shut. There were good things to her new existence - she tried to recall the exhilaration of battling through the apartment building with Nines, the utter thrill of realizing her own power and living out scenes she’d only ever witnessed in action movies. Maybe some doors were shut to her, but others had opened.

Nines. Her eyes opened again, and she set off down the tunnels leading south. Thoughts of the man filled her with warmth, quite unlike the strange thrall Velvet had put her under, and she was eager to dismiss them with each footstep against the concrete below.

Memories of warmth only made the cold harsher.

It was still raining when she crawled out of a manhole in the middle of the museum parking lot - utterly deserted so late at night. As she approached the front steps of the great stone building, memories of childhood surfaced in her mind - forging her parents’ signature to go on a field trip, standing terrified in line as if expecting to see them at any moment, but overwhelmed with excitement to see the past in person. Desperate for some confirmation that things weren’t always so terrible, seeking out reassurance that bad times would pass and had passed before.

Mary shook them from her mind and unlocked the front door, wiping her boots on the carpet. The last thing she needed was to leave wet footprints while otherwise invisible. With a bag full of blood packs and a sarcophagus to find, she drew the shadows over herself and stepped into the main hall of the museum.

The floors were marble, the atrium host to gigantic dinosaur skeletons that nearly reached the vaulted ceilings three floors above. Dioramas and displays lined the walls, showcasing taxidermied and sculpted animals both alive and extinct.

It was difficult not to get distracted as she began her search - her eyes always flitted to the displays, skimming the text on the plaques next to them. They reminded her of the wide world beyond - creatures of the mountains and the savanna, places she’d never been but perhaps had eternity to visit. Part of her wondered how different such parts of the world would be from what she already knew, now that she belonged to the darkness. She wanted to see.

Her quarry didn’t lie in the display cases, though, and when she heard the approaching steps of a security guard she knew she couldn’t afford to linger. With a heavy heart she tore herself away from the parts of the museum meant to educate and entertain guests, and slipped into the world behind it. Cubicles and computers, liminal space - her fingers danced across keyboards and tried to glean information between the office politics. Poor password management (internally she cringed to see them written on sticky notes pasted to the monitors) granted her what she needed - access codes to the basement archives.

There was always an odd thrill she felt when she was somewhere she didn’t belong. It was like tricking the rules of society - and without scornful eyes looking down at her she didn’t even feel shame. Mary crept down the stairs into the basement - taking a break in the stairwell to down a blood pack - and entered a world meant only for researchers and archivists.

Security was intense in the basement level - cameras scanning the halls and guards patrolling them. Mary’s mind was filled with patterns, memorizing the routes taken by security and the rotation of the cameras, timing her movements just right. Velvet seeing through her cloak of shadows had her second-guessing how effective Obfuscate could be, and now Mary wasn’t keen on taking any chances.

Going through the downstairs offices was exponentially more difficult - the labs were exposed to the halls through large viewing windows, and she had to time accessing the computers within carefully so that a patrolling guard wouldn’t catch sight of her. At least they all seemed terribly bored, too unaware to notice that email inboxes were displayed on the monitors rather than screensavers when she had to dip back into hiding at their approach.

Navigating the place was a maze, so much so that even the museum itself painted colored lines to code the different areas branched into by the coiling halls. With all the backtracking she had to do after obtaining office access codes and computer passwords, she figured she was familiar enough with the building to apply for a job by the time she finally managed to discover what lab the sarcophagus was kept in. Obtaining _those_ door codes was another exercise in annoyance, and in her haste she decided walking in front of a camera with her cloak of shadows about her wouldn’t do any harm.

A sudden shout from the security office down the hall proved otherwise. The door flew open and out ran a guard with his revolver in hand, pointing it down the hallway in Mary’s direction. The man was burly, maybe ex-military, and she could see a hint of a neck tattoo poking out above his collar. She froze in place, paralyzed with fear and the knowledge that perhaps even humans could see through her disguise.

The man mirrored her fear, an emotion that was foreign to him by how his features struggled to express it - but his eyes darted around the hall, his pistol wavering. He was searching for her - she was still unseen. Mary quickly crept around the corner to another hall, and heard another guard join the man behind her.

“Did you see something?”

“On the cameras.” The first guard stammered. “There was - this is going to sound crazy, but it wasn’t human. There were spikes grown out of their shoulder, and they crawled like a beast - I don’t know how to explain it, but it was _wrong_ , Wes.”

A long suffering sigh from Wes. “It’s probably a prank by the IT guys. It’s Halloween tomorrow, and you know Jameson bricked one of their servers. Probably dressed up as a gremlin or something and spliced it into the footage to give him a scare. Aren’t you covering his shift?”

“Y… yeah…” The first guard murmured, the rest of his words inaudible as Mary put further distance between herself and the humans.

Wrong.

Mary smiled without humor, scurrying her way back down to where she knew the sarcophagus lay. Wrong was one way to describe her.

She added cameras to the growing list of things the shadows could not hide her from, and desperately wished she could find a book or _something_ on the intricacies of the strange powers unlife had granted her.

Her claws scratched at the wall as she punched in the door code for the archaeology lab section, but she didn’t care. They’d notice the sarcophagus’ absence, evidence that she’d been there wasn’t going to prevent that. The door swung open to a storage room filled with boxes - as she peered over them, none fit the dimensions of either the sarcophagus or the small box LaCroix had spoken of. Illuminated by a light at the end of the storage room was the door to the lab itself, oddly menacing as she stared at it from the dark end of the room. The Sabbat thought an ancient slumbered within the sarcophagus - what if her doom awaited her on the other side of the door?

Mary crept toward it even though she had no reason for stealth, the storage room black and devoid of life. She breathed in as her hand wrapped around the doorknob to the lab - a self-soothing action for her lungs no longer required air - and she pulled it open before she could scare herself out of it.

The lab was much like the others she’d crept through that night, a set of counters built into the wall and filled with all sorts of tools as well as a desktop computer. Her attention was drawn to the center of the room, however, where on a counter island the remnants of a shipping box were broken apart.

“Oh no.” Mary murmured, immediately approaching the scraps of wood. She picked them up one by one, turning them over in her hands - when she found ink letters stamped upon it reading ELIZABETH DANE her heart sank.

The sarcophagus was gone.

Something moved in the shadows behind her. Mary whirled around, claws at the ready, as a familiar figure stepped out from the corner by the door.

“A word of advice, fledgling - check your surroundings before you start investigating, hm?”

Beckett’s eyes shone in the gloom, focused on her own readied claws. Mary did not lower them.

“Where’s the sarcophagus?”

“Not here.” he answered with a sigh. “I’m afraid I’m as in the dark as you are. An awfully large effort to steal a box with a very old corpse inside. Is Los Angeles that dull?”

Something about Beckett made her want to trust him, and that made Mary all the warier. Still, he’d had plenty of opportunity to kill her and hadn’t, and seemed just as frustrated as she was at the situation they found themselves in. “An awful large effort for you to get down here. How’d you get past the guards? Why are you here?”

Beckett merely smiled. “I have my ways, as you have yours. As to the _why_ , rather than the how - a much more relevant question - I’m an archaeologist. I couldn’t resist having first crack at such an artifact before the humans have their chance to erase the subtler clues upon it, given that it has the city in an uproar. My hypothesis from what I’ve read is that it’s host to the mummy of an ancient Mesopotamian king, and I’d hoped to confirm it tonight to lay to bed the city’s suspicions. Unfortunately it seems that superstition has won tonight.”

“LaCroix’s going to kill me.” Mary breathed, lowering her hands. “I took too long.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Beckett replied with a polite incline of his head. “Given that I arrived as early as possible this night, I believe the sarcophagus was moved before its whereabouts were known to the Prince.”

A whine escaped Mary’s throat - she’d failed, and failure meant punishment. LaCroix had all but shaken the importance of acquiring the sarcophagus into her, and he likely would stop at nothing to find it. If he didn’t kill her, she’d likely be responsible for finding its whereabouts - more weeks of toil, operating blind. She clenched her hands into fists, trying to reorient herself. “Who do you think stole it?”

“Stole it?” Beckett chuckled. “An interesting choice of words, seeing as you’re here to take it away from here.”

“Yeah, yeah, pot calling kettle black.” Mary waved her hand dismissively, trying not to scowl at the emphasis on semantics. “I figure you know more about this city than I do. More about Kindred in general than I do, at least.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere and nowhere, fledgling.” He pressed his gloved hands together in front of himself. “Every supernatural creature in the city is suspect, as are most human thieves. We might as well question magicians, while we’re at it-”

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” Mary interrupted, unable to withhold her scowl any longer. “Okay. I get your point.”

“The entire city’s in an uproar. I’m only partially joking. The Prince is but a name on a very long list of people who’d want to get their hands on such an artifact.”

“Why?”

“A list of reasons as long as the names. A supposed antediluvian is priceless for many reasons - but the main one is _power_. To ally yourself with one - or to consume one - would offer power beyond imagining. They’re said to be on the level of gods, millennia old Kindred who walked next to Caine himself.” He snorted. “Myth, of course. All this speculation on it containing an antediluvian and heralding Gehenna makes me cringe - it’s what I came here to debunk.”

“A regular James Randi, huh.” Mary looked back down at the scraps of wood, feeling a strange urge to start throwing them against the wall. To tell the truth, she wanted to trash the entire lab, frustration pricking at her skin.

“Kindred have been crying about Armageddon for as long as humanity has, and yet the world keeps on turning. Some say your Embrace was another portent, you know.”

Mary snapped her gaze back to him, scowl melting into worry. Casimir had told her she was meant to fight the ancients, but from what she heard she had no chance of succeeding at such a task. Had her chance at life and a future been erased due to simple superstition? Andrei and Skelter seemed to believe in the end times, but Beckett sounded so _certain_. He was different, human in some ways and inhuman in others. “My sire seemed to believe in it.” It was all the answer she could offer Beckett without risking him confirming the utter waste her existence was.

“I’m certain he did. The Sabbat have a taste for superstition.” At the jolt of panic his words sent through her, Beckett held up his hand in reassurance. “His affiliations were an open secret. If the Camarilla has let you survive thus far, they have no intent of executing you for his sins. Not after Rodriguez’ display, at least.”

Mary broke eye contact at the mention of Nines’ name, only humming in acknowledgement. A moment of silence passed before Beckett spoke again.

“What do you believe, fledgling?”

“I don’t know.” she replied quickly, angry at her own ignorance. “All I know is that I’m a horror show and I’ve got a boot on my neck. There’s so much I don’t know and I can’t learn anything while LaCroix’s got me running his errands, so the sooner I can find his...” Frustration took over, turning her voice into a hiss. “... _fucking_ box the sooner I can give you an actual answer.”

“Hm.” Beckett was watching her with obvious curiosity. “I’ll tell you this much - humans and kindred are as capable of managing their own destruction as any deity. A self induced Gehenna is as dangerous as one wrought by gods. That’s why I’m here - trying to warn against such madness has been my _raison d'être_ these past years. I’d advise you to keep that in mind, as you find your own place in this world.”

Mary caught herself staring at him, his words planting new seeds of possibility in her mind. Maybe Casimir was one of the superstitious, maybe she’d been fruitlessly embraced - but that didn’t mean that there was no danger in the world, nothing to fight for. “Thanks.” she said genuinely, her posture relaxing.

“Don’t thank me yet - you still need to escape this place.” He adjusted his coat collar and tightened his gloves, clearly preparing himself for his own departure.

“I have a friend waiting with a van in the loading dock.” Mary gestured at the lab’s second door, over which hung a red EXIT sign. “Probably best I break the bad news to the Prince as soon as possible.”

Beckett raised a brow. “Could I trouble you to carpool, in that case? I’ve an appointment with Sebastian myself tonight.”

“Don’t think I could tell you no even if I wanted to.” she replied with a hesitant smile.

Together they exited into the loading dock - completely barren and lit by a few hanging and bare incandescent bulbs. The place felt yellow. One of the garage doors was open, the interior of a van sitting beyond - Mary crawled into the back and Beckett followed after her. She rapped on the sliding window that opened to the front of the van, where she could see Mercurio sitting in the driver’s seat.

Mercurio frowned when he saw his cargo didn’t include the sarcophagus, the artifact replaced by a politely waving Beckett. He pulled the window open. “What the hell happened?”

“The sarcophagus is stolen. Beckett says he’s got a meeting with the Prince so he’s tagging along.”

Mercurio pressed his lips together nervously. “I’ll help you out, just don’t tell LaCroix I drove him. If he’s lying, it’s my head.”

“I can assure you I’ve spoken nothing but the truth tonight.” Beckett called from behind her, having drawn the van doors closed behind them and sat himself neatly on the floor.

Mary offered Mercurio her best smile, and the ghoul simply shook his head before leaning over to start the ignition. The van roared to life, engine vibrating their surroundings. Mary hung by the front, peering through the small window to get a view out of the front windshield. Beckett took what looked like a journal from an interior pocket of his jacket, writing carefully in it with a pencil.

“So.” Mercurio spoke once they were back on the road - Mary caught glimpses of university buildings passing them by at the sides of the road. “How’s life been treating you? You figure out what’s going on in your head?”

Mary heard Beckett’s pencil scratch behind her, and knew she had to be careful with what he overheard. “Yeah. I talked to Nines. It’s not anything bad. Just…” she grappled with the right words to say. “Complicated.”

“Hmph. Seems to be the only way you types operate.”

“Not willingly.” Beckett added from the back. “I’d very much like for things to go smoothly.”

Mary found her body pulled to the side as the van made a turn. “How’ve you been doing, Mercurio?”

“Same as always.” he answered with a sigh. “Santa Monica’s been quiet since you took care of the local nuisance. LaCroix keeps me busy, though. Been a while since I’ve played chauffeur.” He glanced back at her as the van reached a stoplight. “... thanks for asking.”

“I stopped by the other night and you weren’t there. Glad you’re okay.” she smiled. “I, um. Came across some ghouls who weren’t so lucky, and I guess I got worried.”

Mercurio laughed at that, accelerating as the light turned green. “You’re precious, kid. I’m no newbie - a league ahead of whatever kids are getting roped into the scene lately, trust me.”

“How long have you served LaCroix?” Beckett asked.

“Going on forty years now. A lot’s changed since the sixties, but I figure you probably know all about that.”

“Indeed.” Beckett smiled in a way Mary thought was almost sad.

“Not sure if I like it or not. No shortage of excitement, that’s for sure, but everything happens so damn fast.” Mercurio continued as Mary rested her cheek against the glass, peering at their surroundings as they drove by them. She couldn’t get enough of the sights above ground, even if they instilled her with fear.

“That’s just age, my friend.” Beckett returned his attention to his journal. “Either you lose yourself in the tide, or start swimming with the current.”

“It’s still crazy to think about.” Mary said quietly. “How much I might see. I calculated in my head how long I’d make it, back when I was still human. Ninety’s a pretty good run, so I’d be biting it around what, 2060? Now 2600 might be in the cards. Vampires in space…”

Mercurio laughed heartily at that, drowning out Beckett’s polite chuckle. “If we play our cards right we’ll be living a B movie.”

As they passed streetlight upon streetlight, soft orange light crossing over her face, another thought struck her. She could have eternity to know people - could spend decades learning about them, spending time with them. Reach understandings that time would rob her of, experience things she could never imagine when her heart still beat.

The passing lights reminded her of a trip on the back of a motorcycle and she felt that familiar rush creep over her. If she played her cards right, she could make up for all the time she’d missed with _him_ , whose name she hardly dared to say in her head in such contexts. The only friend she’d really had.

If he wanted it.

If LaCroix didn’t kill her in the next hour.

\--

The Prince didn’t even seem to notice Beckett filing into his office behind her - the moment he laid eyes on her he’d sharply risen from his desk and crossed the room to close the distance between them. He extended his arms, and looked as if he was about to lay his hands on her shoulders before thinking better of it.

“My prodigy!” he exclaimed, beaming in a manner that was distinctly unfamiliar and which unsettled Mary’s stomach. “I see you’ve brought Beckett with you - do you need assistance bringing the sarcophagus to my office?”

LaCroix was closer than she’d have liked him to be, given what she was about to tell him. Mary was very aware that she was within striking distance - and hoped that Beckett was speaking the truth when he said he wouldn’t let any harm come to her.

“The sarcophagus was gone. It’s been stolen.”

It wiped the smile from the Prince’s face, and before the confusion took over a shade of dread gleamed in his eyes. “Stolen?”

Rage would be next, she knew, and Mary took a step back. “I-”

LaCroix stepped forward, now nearly vibrating with fury. “STOLEN?” he roared, and Mary flinched. To her relief he spun on his heel, pacing back to his desk and shaking his head. “How? Who would-” He paused mid step, and slowly turned to look back at her. For a moment he looked as if he was tempted to snap her neck. “ _Gary_.”

For a moment she thought he’d mispronounced her name in rage, but more words startled tumbling out of his mouth, his posture incandescent with fury.

“You treasonous maggot.” he hissed. “Sewer rats and spies, I should have anticipated such treachery.” LaCroix was nearly twitching, each movement of his sharp as if physically reaching for a course of action. Mary could never imagine the normally composed Prince in such a state - the display was adolescent, a tantrum.

Beckett spoke at last. “I arrived as early as possible and found the sarcophagus gone. The girl had nothing to do with it - whatever her clan’s motives, I believe she’s innocent.”

The reminder of Beckett’s presence caused LaCroix to straighten - he ran his hand over his hair to smooth it back and composed himself. “Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat and returned to his desk. “Gary is the primogen of the Nosferatu clan in Los Angeles.” he explained, as Mary counted her blessings that she survived his outburst unscathed. “Dealing with your kind is a necessary evil, but they’ve been suspiciously silent as of late. I now know why. The Nosferatu were entrusted with discovering the sarcophagus’ location, they were the only ones who could have known.” He clasped his hands together on the desk’s surface, his grip white knuckled. Mary could see them quivering.

“The Nosferatu have gone silent?” Beckett questioned - he’d found the corner of LaCroix’s office most populated by books, and seemed to be fond of it. “Interesting. I’ve heard rumor of the clan in San Francisco going similarly quiet.”

Mary looked between the two elders, fear gripping her once more. Her clan - the supposed tight knit family, if Knox’s words were anything to go by - going dark? They might have been her best chance of learning anything, if nothing else at least they could tell her how best to hide herself. If they’d disappeared…

“They’ve always enjoyed being a nuisance.” LaCroix spoke through gritted teeth. “We’ll speak of it later. Fledgling. My mistake is clear to me now. I want Gary found. This city is already on the edge of madness. If the sarcophagus were to be… exploited, catastrophe could fall upon our heads.”

Mary saw Beckett’s eyes narrow in her periphery.

“Your clan’s domain in this city lies beneath the filth of Hollywood’s streets, though not even I know how to reach it. Unfortunately, Hollywood lacks Camarilla loyalties.” LaCroix tilted his head, looking at her consideringly. “The anarchs lay claim to the region. Hollywood’s Baron is a Toreador named Isaac Abrams - he’s far more civilized than his comrades downtown, but he makes no secret of his distaste for me. He may know how to find your clan.”

Hollywood - she’d never managed to get there in her time in Los Angeles. To meet more anarchs and to possibly meet her clan… she had to work to keep her excitement from showing. “Yes, sir.” Part of her wondered why she even bothered saying anything, if she was just going to repeat the same niceties.

“Find Gary and get him to talk, however you can. I’m willing to forgive certain trespasses in this matter.” LaCroix glanced over at Beckett. “You’re dismissed, fledgling.”

As Mary rode the elevator down to the tower’s basement, she bounced on her heels. Whatever awaited her, at least it’d sate her curiosity. As soon as she made it to the sewers, she sprinted down the tunnels down a familiar route, humming with excitement.

\--

The Last Round was packed when she entered, Kindred of all kinds chattering amongst themselves. Some were arguing loudly - she witnessed what looked like a young Brujah throw a punch at another, only to have Skelter pick them up by the collar and bodily remove them from the premises. He didn’t notice Mary’s arrival.

In fact, no one seemed to really take note of her - a few glances were cast her way but otherwise whatever the patrons were engrossed in was far more interesting than she was. It was a vivid change from the usual disgust, and she appreciated it.

The music was loud as always, and Mary winced as she passed a speaker on her way up the stairs. A crowd lingered there too, and she stood on her toes in search of familiar blue eyes.

“Hey, cammy.” Damsel spoke from her left, and Mary dropped back down to the flats of her feet.

“Sorry for crashing the party.” she apologized. “I just - is Nines here?”

“Just missed him.” Damsel replied flatly, folding her arms. “Anyways, you’re not crashing anything. It’s a Rant. Like your prissy little Camarilla salons, but people get to actually speak their minds here.”

“It looks kind of like a house party.” Mary observed, shoulders slumping a little at knowledge that she’d missed Nines.

“It’s pretty tame tonight.” Damsel admitted, letting her arms drop back down to her sides. “Things can get pretty rowdy but I guess everyone’s got too much to gossip about. The hell you looking for Nines for, anyways?”

“The sarcophagus LaCroix’s after got stolen.” Mary replied - immediately Damsel seized her by the bicep and dragged her into the women’s washroom. It was quieter there, and more importantly empty.

“Going double agent?” Damsel was beaming, bristling with as much excitement as Mary had felt on her way in. “Spill the beans, Briar Mary.”

The way Damsel was looking at her it was as if she was trying to read her mind. “That’s all. I got to the museum, and it was gone. LaCroix thinks the Nosferatu did it-”

“Naturally.” Damsel interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“- so he’s sending me off to Hollywood to try and find them.” Mary continued. “I didn’t know you guys ran the place.”

“Isaac runs the place.” Damsel’s scowl returned. “He hates the cammies as much as any of us, but he likes the fuddy-duddy etiquette shit as much as they do. He’s alright, for a torrie.”

Mary’s first brush with a Toreador had given her a borderline panic attack. She wasn’t looking forward to meeting more. “Any pointers?”

Damsel sighed. “Be polite, I guess. I don’t want to tell you to kiss ass but it might help. Don’t talk bad about old films, it’s his soft spot. Isaac gets away with shit because he’s old and he’s there when it counts. He’s probably going to get you to scratch his back before he scratches yours.”

“More errands.” Mary couldn’t keep from groaning. The faster the sarcophagus business was dealt with, the better.

“Isaac’s good for it, though. He’ll tell you everything you need to know after that. No bullshit.” Damsel tipped her head toward the bathroom window. “You’d better get running if you want to make it there before sunrise. Uh, one thing, though.”

Mary paused, halfway through turning to leave. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again after the plaguebearer shit.” Damsel mumbled, as if afraid anyone would overhear her. “You rethinking the whole cammy thing?”

“I never agreed to it in the first place.” Mary frowned. “I’m doing this because if I don’t I’m ash. I don’t mind helping you guys, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Damsel lofted a brow, something in her eyes softening. “Huh. Well, if you want to help - let me know what LaCroix’s got you doing when you can. We need all the eyes on the inside that we can get, so you might as well get something useful done while he’s got you running after the Rolls Royce of coffins or whatever.”

Mary couldn’t help but smile, thinking of what Beckett would have to say about the sarcophagus being described in such a way. Damsel’s anger had been replaced by concern, and it felt like a blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders to realise it was directed at _her_. Damsel was worried about her.

Reluctantly, she approached the window. “You got it, Damsel.”

“And briar patch?”

Mary glanced over, pulling open the window. “Yeah?”

“Be careful out there. Nines likes you, and I don’t want him yelling at me if you get ashed.”


	14. Hollywood I

Mary didn’t make it to Hollywood that night. Nagging thirst distracted her from her travels, and it took her too long to find someone to feed from - a man waiting at a lonely bus stop, likely on his way home from working the night shift. By the time she settled him safely down on a bench the sky was lightening, and she’d barely managed to creep back into the sewers below and find a comfortable alcove before exhaustion overtook her.

Waking up in a sewer was starting to become a habit for her, and she wondered if her errand running would ever be enough to pay for a vehicle. Running around LA’s sewer system took more time than she liked, supernatural speed or no, and she wished she was able to just take a cab. 

The map Bertram had given her listed Hollywood’s sewer system as a longer alternative to the direct route between Santa Monica and Downtown she usually took - and she felt a wave of relief at the realization that it was conveniently placed between the two areas of town. Returning to her haven or The Last Round would take less time than running from one to the other. It was good to work somewhere nice, for a change.

So she assumed. Whatever lay aboveground, the sewer system of the rich and famous was the same as any other, if perhaps a little better lit. As Mary tried to figure out what sewer exit was best to take to get her bearings - she had no idea precisely _where_ in Hollywood to find Isaac - she noticed signs that the sewers were better travelled than she was used to. Filth underfoot was compacted, in some places wooden planks and metal grating had been set down to connect walkways. If her clan truly made its home beneath Hollywood, the sewers reflected their presence. Bertram’s map offered her no answers when it came to how to find them, unfortunately, and so after several minutes of dithering she finally picked a sewer exit at random to climb out of.

Mary held the manhole above her head with the flats of her palms, raising it only a few inches so she could get a preliminary peek. The sight that greeted her wasn’t anything like she’d seen in the movies.

She was in the middle of a nearly deserted street, wide laned and lined with designer label stores. Long past closing time, no customers roamed the streets, and in the dim orange light of streetlamps the grime beneath the glamour was obvious. A homeless man slept in the archway of a store that sold purses more expensive than some cars, his raincoat drawn over him like a blanket and a dog curled up at his feet. It was cute, if dirty - some sort of retriever - and lifted its head as Mary deemed her surroundings safe enough to crawl out onto the asphalt. She’d barely pulled the shadows around her when the animal started barking, awaking its master.

The dog must have been able to see her - it certainly could smell her, if nothing else - for it stood up with its back straight and hackles raised, snarling in her direction despite its owner’s attempts to calm it. Mary saw a unique fear cross the man’s face - the terror of the unknown - and she was reminded once again of just how little she belonged on the surface. The longer she lingered, the more terrified and frantic the dog’s barking became. More accurately than any mirror Mary was granted insight into just how frightening she was. Beast and human alike feared her. The knowledge paralyzed her, and it took the approaching headlights of a car up the street to get her moving again.

Hollywood’s back alleys weren’t exactly her best bet when it came to tracking down a Baron, but staying in the main streets discomforted her. It was Halloween night, and as she started to near a block that was home to a few clubs, streams of taxis and party goers lined the streets. Mary knew a club was probably her best bet at finding one of the local kindred and getting information on where to find Isaac Abrams, but she couldn’t bear to be around people just yet. She needed time to collect her bearings.

So Mary found herself in a lonelier part of town, host to more stores of luxury and the odd condo building. Palm trees swayed in the wind, and she wondered what the place looked like during the day. Despite living in the city for years, she'd never made it to Hollywood. Before her mortal hands knocked at Nines' door she was a prisoner in her own apartment, and afterward work kept her far too busy to offer much leisure time. She'd always justified it to herself as being too broke for what that part of LA had to offer - and a reluctance to deal with the slew of tourists.

Now, she supposed, she was a tourist herself.

It wasn't anything like the movies, that was for sure. At night the shadows were sharp, and nothing glistened. Far as she now was from any night clubs, lounges, and liquor stores the streets were utterly deserted. When it came to phrases she thought she'd use to describe Hollywood by night, lonely wasn't one of them. Mary passed a graveyard as she walked cautiously down the sidewalk. It was surprisingly large for being in a city, and swore she saw shapes moving among the tombstones. Idly she wondered what dead celebrities lay within - or above ground. The plaguebearer fiasco had taught Mary that zombies existed, though the how and why of it was a mystery to her. Temptation to investigate was strong, but when she checked her surroundings for anyone else who might have seen what she was seeing she caught sight of something exponentially more interesting.

A familiar motorcycle was parked just a little further up the road outside of a jewelry store. Mary told herself that it was just a coincidence, that the bike was just the same model - but as she drew close and saw the helmet hanging from its handlebars, she knew.

Nines.

Mary looked up at the jewelry store’s sign - _Abrams Golden Age Jewelry_ \- and marvelled at her fortune. Whatever was happening in the graveyard went forgotten, as she peered in through the front windows of the store. It was dark, but in the dim light cast by the streetlamps she could see that the building’s interior was exactly what she’d expected from a Hollywood jewelry store. Glimmering jewels in glass cases, elegant carpeting, mahogany wall panelling. It looked old. The store interior was empty of any inhabitants - which was just as well, as she couldn’t quite imagine Nines standing comfortably in such elegant surroundings.

There was an alley to the left of the building, made obvious by the light shining out of it, and when Mary circled around she found the cause. A lamppost shone brightly down on a door to the back part of the jewelry store - and above the door a camera was mounted. Mary froze, realizing she was in full view of the thing, and memories of being caught out at the museum flew to mind. Panic started to rise in the back of her throat.

The door opened, and a burly man dressed in black with opaque sunglasses leaned out of it. He was scowling in her direction, but didn’t seem to know precisely where to look - similar to the guard at the museum. Unlike the guard, when the man spoke he clearly knew who he was addressing.

“Get over here, sewer rat.” he said cooly. “You should know better than to wander the streets.” The man gestured at a sewer grate half hidden by garbage at the end of the alley.

Mary scurried forward and dropped her cloak of shadows. “I’m new.” she offered in explanation. “I didn’t really know where to find-”

“Mr Abrams appreciates you announcing your presence in his domain.” The man interrupted, blocking the door. From what Mary could make out, a hallway with vivid red carpeting and wood panelling similar to the storefront lay behind him. “Tell me your name and I’ll pass it along.”

“I was hoping to meet with him, actually.” Mary tried not to focus on how _bright_ the lamppost was, highlighting every inch of her, nor the whirring of the camera. “Technically I’m here because of the Prince, but-”

“Your name.” The man repeated, expression stony.

Her shoulders slumped. “Mary. I’m here about-”

The door was shut in her face. Dumbly she stood in front of it, uncertain of what to do with herself. Had she said something wrong? Or did Isaac have no intention of helping anyone attached to the Prince? Mary supposed it wasn’t like the help she'd given the anarchs was common knowledge, but Damsel had said the man was civil. If the motorcycle outside was any indicator, Nines was also nearby. Maybe he'd vouch for her.

What if he didn't?

Any growing fear was nipped in the bud when the door opened once again.

“Mr Abrams will see you.” The man stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter. The way his face wrinkled in disgust as Mary passed didn’t escape her.

She was led down the hall, lined with framed photos of actors and actresses across the decades accepting awards. As she was guided toward the door at the end of the hall, it was like she was stepping back in time - the images shifting from color to black and white, the dates on plaques below the pictures growing earlier and earlier. Some names she recognized, others were unknown to her, but the reason for Damsel’s warning about being polite when it came to old films became clear to Mary. Whatever these actors and actresses were to Isaac, he valued their success.

The door at the end of the hall was solid oak, stained black and elegantly carved in an art deco fashion. 

“You’re on Baron Abrams’ territory now. LaCroix has no power here. Show Mr. Abrams the respect he deserves, and you’ll find Hollywood’s the best part of LA.” Her escort instructed. “Since you’re Nosferatu, here's the rules: you stay six feet away from his desk and don’t touch anything unless given permission.”

Mary frowned but didn’t argue. So far it was terribly similar to her audiences with LaCroix. At least she wasn't called a sewer rat again. “Okay.”

The man knocked at the door, and a muffled voice spoke in acknowledgement beyond. Her escort pulled the latch and pushed the door open, gesturing for her to enter.

Isaac Abrams’ office was even more elegant than the storefront or the hallway, but Mary spared little attention for the details of it. Something else demanded her focus.

In the chair in front of the Baron’s massive desk sat Nines Rodriguez, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him. He was wearing road leathers, his jacket thick enough it may as well have been battle armor, and she wondered if there was anything on earth he could wear that he wouldn’t look good in. It made him stand out, a stark contrast to such luxurious and curated surroundings - though not nearly as out of place as Mary supposed _she_ looked. The two of them stared at each other. Isaac cleared his throat.

Mary tore her gaze away from Nines with some reluctance, offering Isaac her best approximation of a polite smile. The man looked to be in his fifties, coiffed hair streaked with grey. While she didn’t know much about fashion something about the man felt as if he’d stepped straight out of the ‘40s - maybe it was the cut of his suit, or the way he comfortably reclined in his chair. Isaac’s lip curled slightly at Mary’s smile, and once again she was reminded that her teeth were a thing best kept hidden.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” she broke the silence, remembering her escort’s words and only taking a few steps into the office. Six feet of distance, just as LaCroix kept. It seemed to be the law of polite society when it came to her kind.

“We’ve concluded our business.” Isaac replied. “You’ve just interrupted reminiscing. What can I do for you tonight?”

Nines was uncharacteristically quiet, and the baron of Hollywood took note of it judging by his raised brow.

“I’m sorry.” Mary repeated to stall for time, her brain tripping over itself. She’d left her last meeting with Nines to deal with the Camarilla, and now was about to start one by announcing the Camarilla were her very reason for standing where she did. In the back of her mind she prayed Damsel would spread the word that she wasn’t quite the loyalist she seemed. “I’m here to make contact with the Nosferatu. LaCroix wants to speak with them and they’re not talking.”

That jostled Nines out of whatever thoughts he was lost in. “How’d he manage to piss them off?”

“You’re one of the clan. I’m surprised they haven’t reached out to you themselves.” Isaac added.

“I don’t know. To both questions.” Mary answered, feeling no small amount of shame to be so excluded from her clan. Everything she’d heard about them suggested strong ties, belonging, _family_ \- and whatever it was about Mary, she wasn’t deemed worthy of joining them. “LaCroix said you might be able to help me find them.”

Isaac and Nines exchanged looks, and the two men rose from their chairs. 

“I better get to work.” Nines muttered, heading to the door without a formal goodbye. He made a point of patting Mary on her bare shoulder as he passed her. “Welcome to Hollywood, kid.”

Mary found herself momentarily speechless, the weight of his hand on her shoulder something akin to an anchor in the uncertain waters of Isaac's parlor. Isaac pressed his lips together into a thin line, unamused at the display, and Mary wondered if there was conflict between the two men.

“Send my regards to Velvet.” Isaac said as Nines opened the door. Mary gave an involuntary jolt at the name, and the look Nines cast her was apologetic.

His tone, however, was scolding. “You can give them to her yourself, Isaac.”

When Nines shut the door behind him, the room felt a little colder.

Mary glanced between the door and Isaac, wondering if she’d interrupted an argument. He sat back down, and did not offer her the now vacated seat in front of his desk. She remained where she was, awkwardly clasping her hands in front of her.

“I knew Nines when he was just a young pup.” Isaac began, and some part of Mary’s brain felt as if she was back in high school, called up to the principal’s office. “It’s made me proud to see what he’s done, but I forget he’s not a fledgling anymore - and sometimes he forgets my experience." He shook his head. "Brujah." 

Mary felt a strange energy ripple through the air, and Isaac’s smile looked warmer. When she blinked it was icy again - and she wondered if he was attempting to smooth over what she’d seen through supernatural manipulation.

_Toreador._

“I wouldn’t know much about that.” Mary offered. “I’ve only been Kindred a few weeks.”

“And here you are.” Isaac was genuinely interested, leaning forward a little in his chair. “Our baby face Prince must be desperate indeed to be sending you to my doorstep. I suppose he also gets to kill two birds with one stone this way.” He looked her up and down with a poorly concealed frown. “I don’t like dealing with the Nosferatu. They make their home in my domain and pay no heed to the respect and courtesies that come with it. Your clan is a necessary evil, and each time I deal with them I find myself paying for it in one way or the other.”

Damsel’s advice was all that kept Mary holding her tongue - if he didn’t know where her clan was he could just say so instead of subjecting her to a lecture. Whatever he spoke of with Nines had his temper raised, and Mary had the unfortunate timing to provide an outlet for it.

“Usually when I require their services I put the word out and they find their way to me." he continued. "That’s changed lately. I’ve had an agent looking into matters, but the radio silence from your clan is the least of my concerns.”

“Is that why Nines was here?” Mary spoke out of turn, unable to stifle her curiosity.

The look Isaac gave her was icy. “Don’t insult my intelligence. It’s not any business of the Camarilla’s.”

“I’m not Camarilla.”

Isaac placed a hand to his temple and spoke as if explaining a simple concept to a child. “On the contrary. You’re here on LaCroix’s orders. To my understanding, you’ve spent the majority of your existence doing as he commands.”

It fanned the embers of her simmering anger at the situation she found herself in, and it was impossible to bite her tongue any longer. “Only because I’m ash if I don’t. Look, Mr. Abrams, I don’t know how old you are, so I don’t know if you remember what it’s like to be a fledgling - but it's hard and I don't even have a sire to help me out. I can’t just tell LaCroix to go fuck himself. Believe me, I tried.”

Coarse language wasn’t something Isaac was fond of, if his deepening frown at the term _fuck_ was any indicator. “I don’t see LaCroix holding a blade to your throat. If you wanted to be free, you would be.” He held up his hand before Mary could argue any further. “I don’t believe LaCroix sent you here to argue your loyalties, and if I’m honest I don’t have much interest in the matter either. You need something from me. I don’t know how much polite society you’re used to, but traditionally there’s a trade in these matters.”

As Damsel had warned, more errands awaited her. Mary swallowed her frustration and smothered the voice in the back of her head telling her to tear her claws across his immaculately polished desk. “What do you need me to do?”

Her acquiescence wasn’t what Isaac was expecting - and he seemed satisfied in his surprise. “Something simple enough. I have two childer with me here in town: Velvet and Ash. Due to the recent troubles I haven’t been able to help them as much as I’d like. I want you to speak with them and see if there’s anything they need done.”

Errands spawning from errands. The web thickened. “Where can I find them?”

“You can find Velvet at Vesuvius - it’s a gentleman’s club several blocks to the south. Ash oversees a nightclub not far from that.” Isaac studied her, as if trying to gauge some understanding from her appearance. “Most people have heard of it. The Asp Hole.”

Mary recalled magazine covers in waiting rooms, the last gossip rags her mortal eyes saw featured a handsome man avoiding the flash of paparazzi cameras in front of a club with a coiling snake in neon lights. “Wait. Ash - _the_ Ash Rivers? _Negative Zero_ Ash Rivers?”

Isaac smiled, but his eyes held a flash of pain. “Try not to be too starstruck.”

Celebrities were the exact opposite of who she’d expected to meet that night, but Mary couldn’t complain. Unbidden a memory from the loft floated to the forefront of her mind - Nines looking strangely awkward as she held a rental in still-human hands, the movie cover proudly proclaiming Rivers as its star.

He was Kindred all along.

“There any other vampire celebs I should know about?” Mary asked, unable to withhold her curiosity. 

“Do as I ask, and I’m sure your clan will be happy to fill you in.” The baron waved his hand in dismissal. “Good evening.”

The door was opened behind her, and Mary found herself escorted out by the same man who’d led her in. It was difficult to feel too annoyed, her mind racing with contemplation of how many other famous people happened to be among the undead. How many historical figures shared her experience?

It was something she’d aspire to, if it wasn’t for the nightmarish state of her body. With two new destinations in mind, Mary lowered herself back into the Hollywood sewers.

If a few months ago she was asked what her plans for Halloween were, walking underneath Sunset Boulevard and watching human waste float by would be the last thing she'd imagine. At least she'd win most costume contests - though to her disappointment she realized the excuse would evaporate after that night.

Mary didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, for as she neared the part of town Isaac mentioned she realized she wasn't alone. 

Footsteps echoed against the sewer wall - heavy boots, certainly not those of her or any of her clan judging by the noise. Mary flattened herself against the wall and stuck to the shadows. The footfalls grew louder, and she could pinpoint their location. She ducked around a corner and peeked around it, hoping her curiosity wouldn't bite her in the ass.

Humans. Their clothing was strange - heavy dusters and numerous pockets - but the weaponry strapped to their back had her nervous. Compound crossbows, shotguns and _swords_. They looked like something out of Van Helsing - and when one of the humans passed under the light of a sewer grate above, she saw the glint of a cross hanging around their neck.

Whoever they were, they outnumbered her - and she wasn’t intent on getting into a fight she could avoid that night. Mary crept back the way she came and exited through the first safe grate she could find.

The alley she crawled out into was occupied, though its inhabitants weren’t in any state to see her slip out of the gutter. A man had a woman pinned against the wall, his hands lifting her by the thigh and her arms wrapped around his neck. She wore fake vampire fangs and pale makeup, while the man wore a cape. Her dress was pushed upward, and judging by the pleased noises she was making there was only one thing they could be doing.

Mary snuck by them and wished vampirism were so glamorous.

The street beyond was packed, throngs of people wandering up and down wide sidewalks. It was illuminated by the neon lights of the many clubs lining it, silhouetting the varied and odd shapes of costumed party goers. Some had taken the holiday as an excuse to wear as little as possible, others went into detail that would rival Mary’s own appearance - and when she stepped out onto the street to join the throng the only glances she received were curious ones.

A few blocks down, she could see a giant neon volcano on a sign rising above all others. Below it in capital letters was ‘VESUVIUS’.

Velvet was her first visit, it seemed like - and Mary tried to swallow her fear as she approached the club.

Most of the costumed pedestrians entering the building were men, and she slipped in behind a group of rowdy frat boys dressed as cowboys. At least Mary would stand out for her gender rather than her appearance for once.

In life, gentlemen’s clubs - _strip clubs_ \- might as well have been Antarctica, for how accessible they were to Mary. A religious upbringing framed them as pits of sin, and the man she married to escape it refused to let her out of the apartment. Mary only had the movies she’d seen to grant her any sort of understanding for what to expect - she supposed it was fitting that Hollywood was the site of her first experience inside of one. It thrilled her to be sneaking inside - she had the chance to behold something forbidden to her for so long. While she was fairly certain even Velvet’s best efforts couldn’t titillate her, the concept of rebellion was exciting enough.

It seemed like any other club at first - she followed the frat brothers into a small lobby with an ATM and a shelf full of merchandise featuring Vesuvius’ performers. The smell wasn’t as unpleasant as she expected - perfume, hairspray, and cigarette smoke. Judging from the lobby the place was kept fairly clean - Velvet clearly took pride in her establishment. 

The poor woman at the front desk was overwhelmed by the cowboy horde, and Mary was able to squeeze through the beaded curtains at the back of the lobby to the club beyond.

Bass heavy music hummed deep and hypnotically. On a stage in the center of the club dancers matched the rhythm, swaying their hips and coiling around poles that shone with red light. Plush couches lined the walls, packed with drunk and laughing clientele. Scantily clad women circled the club perimeter with trays full of sparkling shots. Everything was red, lit in a way that was meant to mimic the heat of a volcano but only brought to mind blood for Mary.

She was thankful for the dim lighting for the parts of the club that weren’t the stage - it kept people from really looking at her. Mary made her way down the aisle between the club’s seating, trying her best not to draw anyone’s notice as she peered around in search of Velvet. With so many people there were too many faces to keep track of - too many people who could _see_ her - and in her growing anxiety and distraction she didn’t realize she drew too close to one of the girls carrying a drink tray.

As soon as the girl laid eyes on Mary in all of her terrible glory she shrieked, flinching away so violently that she dropped the tray. Glass shattered, drawing the attention of those within earshot, and Mary wished she could sink into the floor.

“I’m sorry-” she began, but she was drowned out by the girl’s fury.

“If you want to scare people, sign up for the haunted house. Our costume contest was yesterday.” The girl scowled, kneeling to pick up the shards of glass with surprising dexterity, given that she was balancing on six inch platforms. 

Mary felt a new presence approach, and looked to her right to see Velvet approaching with a dreamy yet apologetic smile. While she’d worn a revealing dress at the piano bar when Mary had first met her, now the only thing she wore were hundreds of crystals, stuck to her skin to cover the bare minimum of her modesty. Her entire body shimmered, glittering even in the low light, and her red hair fell about her shoulders in soft waves. She looked like a work of art, and Mary felt all the cruder in comparison.

“I’m so sorry, Melissa.” Velvet began, her arrival immediately soothing her employee. In fact, every human near her seemed to share her dreamy smile, whatever shock they held at the sight of Mary long forgotten. “I should have told you I was expecting someone. She’s here for a client with… unique interests.”

Melissa glanced between Velvet and Mary, an intrigued expression crossing her features. Likely imagining just what sort of client would ask for someone with Mary’s appearance. “No worries, Miss Velour - I should get this cleaned up before someone hurts themselves.” she straightened, her tray full of larger glass shards, and made her way back to the bar. Mary watched her try to get a dustpan from the bartender, and absently marvelled at the utter mundaneness of such a thing in such a place.

Velvet snapped her fingers to get Mary’s attention again, something sharp in her gaze. “Follow me.”

Vanilla perfume followed in her wake, so potent that Mary wondered if Velvet was able to smell anything besides it. The scent wasn’t unpleasant despite its power, at least - Velvet seemed intent on her very presence being an experience. 

She didn’t speak until they’d walked under an archway that led to a fire exit and a set of stairs. Any gentleness had evaporated from her tone. “You can’t just walk in here looking like that, Halloween or not.” Velvet scolded. “Use the back door next time. My clientele visit to escape their nightmares, not revisit them.”

“Imagine what it must be like living them.” Mary muttered, having difficulty keeping her temper leashed.

Instead of infuriating Velvet, however, it seemed to soften her sharp edges. She turned and began to climb the stairs, Mary following closely behind. “If you ever need to speak with me again, my sanctum is up here.” Velvet explained.

Mary followed her into what her moviegoing experience taught her was a VIP room - it was decorated like a hidden cave, obsidian walls catching and reflecting the light. A hot tub bubbled in one corner, a plush couch and pole sitting at the opposite side of the room. A caddy held a silver tray with a crystal carafe on it and two crystal glasses.

A place to entertain, and a place very high on the list of areas Mary couldn’t hope to belong in.

Velvet didn’t hesitate to seat herself on the couch, stretching out her legs with a sigh of relief. It seemed undeath couldn’t spare her from shoe-induced foot pain. “So.” she purred. “The Nosferatu with the sad eyes has returned to me. Couldn’t keep yourself away? Don’t be embarrassed - you’re not my only caller tonight. It’s only natural.” The way the light danced across the jewels adorning her body seemed deliberate, attempting to draw Mary’s eye back to her whenever she looked away. “The last one had sad eyes, too.”

This time, Mary felt Velvet’s influence - it was like standing on the shore, little waves lapping at her feet, trying to pull her back into the sea with them. Now that she knew to be careful, she was able to stand firm. “Isaac sent me, actually. I need a favor from him, so I’ve got to do a favor for him, which means doing a favor for you.” It was enough to make her dizzy.

“Oh, Isaac.” Velvet cooed. “He’s spoiling me tonight. First he sends me a knight in shining armor to protect me, and now he sends me a puzzle. But where are my manners - what’s your name, sad one?”

“Mary.” she introduced herself awkwardly, rubbing at her bare arm. Her mind was occupied with just who Velvet’s knight in shining armor was - and how on earth she qualified as a puzzle.

“A pretty name.” Velvet smiled, lounging on the couch like someone out of a renaissance painting. “I’m going to offer you a choice, Mary. You can take care of a danger to me, or you can tell me the reason for your melancholy. What hides behind those eyes?”

“I’ll take the danger.” Mary replied quickly enough to render Velvet momentarily speechless. To some, an explanation of their feelings would be the easy answer - why put oneself in physical danger when conversation would suffice? Yet even if Mary knew the precise reason why her eyes seemed so sad (there were many culprits, and she didn’t have all night), surrendering it wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing. It was being seen in a deeper way - a harsher exposure. If she offered it up, it’d be on her own power - and not to someone who tried to influence her.

“Oh.” Velvet pouted, but didn’t let it break her stride. “As you’ve probably seen, Hollywood is infested with hunters. My knight’s gone after the bulk of them, but there is one I need someone like you to deal with.” Her cadence lapsed into something that belonged in a play, dripping with drama - pausing for effect, lowering to a whisper when appropriate. “One was in my employ, until I found a weapon in her locker. She’s since been fired, but I fear she’s still watching me.”

Hunters. That explained the humans in the sewer. From what Mary could recall, Masquerade violations were what drew their ire. Bertram had said the anarchs were unorganized and chaotic, and Strauss believed their governance put the Masquerade at risk. Was Hollywood a case in point?

It was something to worry about later. “Do you know where can I find her?”

“Her name is Chastity.” Velvet rolled her eyes. “A dead giveaway.” Mary wondered how the name Vesuvius was any better - and when she realized it was due to volcanoes making a habit of _erupting_ , she thought it was pretty rich of Velvet to roll her eyes at Chastity’s name. “Blonde hair - up top - and brown eyes. She’s renting a room at the Luckee Star Motel while trying to find a new job - close to me, no doubt.”

“If you know where she is, why haven’t you sent someone else after her?” Mary asked in spite of herself - annoying Velvet probably wasn’t the best idea, but if the woman held Isaac’s anarch allegiances maybe she could take a bit of insubordination.

“I want it done quietly. Someone very dear to me staffs the front desk at the hotel, and if anything were to happen to him I fear I’d die of heartbreak.” Velvet’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly of the matter would bring it to fruition. The dramatics were starting to wear on Mary’s nerves. “I’d been hoping for your clan to return - and dear Isaac has sent you to me instead. Find her room, find her, and…” she trailed off and covered her mouth, too horrified to finish her sentence.

“Kill her?” Mary asked flatly, earning a teary nod in reply.

“Please, don’t hurt anyone else. Move the body if you can, I’d hate for my sweet to meet with trouble because of me.” Velvet pleaded, and Mary wondered if the woman was actually having fun hamming it up. 

“I’m not the collateral damage type.” she reassured Velvet, feeling an odd queasiness when it came to the concept of hiding a body. Mary had killed zombies by the dozen, gangsters, and Kindred alike - yet she’d never had to cover her tracks. “I’ll come back when Chastity’s dealt with.”

Velvet smiled and laid down on her front, stretching like a cat. “Just don’t interrupt me - I’m expecting my knight to return soon, and if I can’t get rid of your sadness I can try to get rid of his.”

Mary grimaced and took her leave, boots thudding down the steps. Walking out of the fire exit and into the cool night air was an utter relief. The sharpness of it dispelled the fog in her mind - even when she thought she’d kept her senses around Velvet, still her perception was dulled.

With hunters underground and Halloween night as an undeniable excuse, she couldn’t talk herself into hiding in the tunnels below. It was the only night that year she could completely get away with walking out in the open, she reasoned - as street blocks passed her by the only shouts she received were compliments on her ‘costume’ or inquiries on if the spikes growing out of her shoulder were real. The smell kept the humans from lingering near her for too long - for once, a convenience.

True to Velvet’s word, the Luckee Star was close enough to be within walking distance of Vesuvius. It was a run down little place, the exterior water damaged and an attempt at mimicking Spanish villas. Mary pushed open the front door and hoped the concierge wouldn’t call the cops at first sight of her.

Stepping into the lobby she saw a portly man leaning sleepily against the front desk. He only looked up when the front door shut behind Mary, and the sight of her left his mouth agape.

“Y… y-you…” he spluttered, raising a finger to point at Mary. His expression was one she was sadly very familiar with.

“It’s just a costume!” She held her hands up in an attempt to soothe the man, but he was already on the verge of hyperventilating. “I’m in the special effects busin-” The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he swooned, interrupting her. Mary lunged forward when she saw his knees buckle and managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

Gently she lowered him to it, making sure he was still breathing. If this odd looking man was the one who Velvet seemed so infatuated with, a repeat of Heather might be her best option - but to her relief, it appeared he’d only fainted at the sight of her.

With the hotel’s only apparent employee out of commission, Mary turned her attention to the computer at the front desk. Typing with her claws came naturally enough to her now, and the man at the desk - David Hatter, if his emails were correct - had left the admin account logged in for her browsing pleasure.

It was a habit she was finding herself worryingly fond of - looking at the emails and electronic journals of others. The thrill was the same as sneaking around unseen, the butterflies of having fooled someone successfully. Breaking the rules always filled her with a mix of fear and joy. 

Aside from a _very_ steamy exchange with Velvet, Hatter’s email offered her nothing interesting and so Mary quit avoiding what she’d come to the hotel to do. Who knew how long Hatter would be out. She didn’t have as much time as she wanted - which meant she didn’t have as much time as she needed to properly prepare herself for what she was about to do. An assassination - a murder in anything but self defense. Hunter or no, Mary had avoided the ones in the sewer and would never have crossed paths with Chastity if it wasn’t for Velvet. Did Velvet deserve death for her own carelessness, though?

The hotel only had one room rented out, to Mary’s relief. If the hunters in the sewer were any indicator, with the equipment they had things were going to get _loud_.

Walking out the back doors of the hotel office Mary found herself in a small courtyard with an equally small pool. It was drained and she found herself a little disappointed - swimming without needing to breathe seemed like it’d be fun. Her attention was drawn away by snatches of music audible from one of the rooms upstairs - the same room that had been rented out. Mary crept up to the door and pressed her ear against it.

_“They say in heaven, love comes first - we’ll make heaven a place on earth.”_

Mary was transported to her youth and the first time she realized the song _wasn’t_ referring to Christ. A little secret she held in her heart, and even now she was having difficulty stifling the urge to sing along.

Someone else was doing the job for her, she realized - another voice joining the lead vocalist’s. Chastity was a fan of Belinda Carlisle too, it seemed.

Mary took advantage of the volume of music to cover the sounds of her picking the door’s lock. It was a cheap thing, easily broken into, and she made a note never to trust the place to be safe. A peek into the room beyond showed the bedroom portion was empty - the music was coming from the bathroom at the back. She squeezed inside and shut the door as quietly as she could behind her.

One of the room’s twin beds was unmade. The other had a rifle case laying upon it. Mary took it and shoved it under the bed - she’d caught sight of boxes of phosphorus rounds on the end table, and had no intention of discovering just how much fire hurt.

A bible lay open on the room’s desk, a blade next to it. The memories _that_ brought to mind were quickly smothered - she could see into the bathroom now and had larger concerns.

_“Ooh, heaven is a place on earth.”_

A small boombox sat on the bathroom floor, music blaring. In front of the sink a blonde haired woman Mary could only assume was Chastity was brushing her hair - or trying to, given that she kept using her hairbrush as a makeshift microphone. 

Mary hesitated. It was something she remembered doing, back when her heart still beat - and the moment of sheer vulnerability arrested her. Chastity was human, human as she’d once been, and despite evidence that Chastity did her best to destroy kindred Mary couldn’t exactly blame her. She’d seen enough horrors in recent nights to question if the hunters didn’t have the right idea.

The moment fell apart. Chastity looked in the mirror at exactly the wrong angle, and before Mary could try to explain herself Chastity had thrown a knife right into her throat.

It stunned her long enough to buy Chastity time to sprint to the closet and pull out a fucking _longsword_. Mary tugged the knife out and felt her vitae bubble down the front of her chest - her next move was to throw her arms in front of her to defend against the flurry of blows levelled her way.

_“Ooh, baby, do you know what that’s worth? Ooh, heaven is a place on earth.”_

Chastity may have been a dancer at Velvet’s club, but her true dance was with a blade. Each slice was meant to disable, and if it wasn’t for Mary’s tough and leathery flesh she’d likely already be crippled. Until the blade was twisted _just so_ , and a chunk of Mary’s left arm was carved open like Thanksgiving turkey.

Something in her snapped.

_“Baby I was afraid before, but I’m not afraid anymore.”_

Pain made her furious, and there was only a momentary gleam of fear in Chastity’s eyes before Mary returned the favor with her claws. Chastity tried to parry them and made an admirable effort for a few moments, sparks flying when her blade connected with Mary’s hardened claws. A lamp was knocked over in the struggle, but eventually Mary landed her first blow. She tore into Chastity’s pretty face, and the scent of fresh blood drove her to push Chastity into the wall hard enough to stun the woman. She dropped the sword, and Mary fed.

The hunter’s blood went to heal the wounds she’d inflicted, and when she was cold and limp in Mary’s arms awareness returned. Music from the boombox was still blaring. Without the longsword, Chastity looked like any other young woman in her pajamas, the mess Mary made of her face a sharp contrast to the rest of her appearance.

Velvet had asked her to move the body somewhere that wouldn’t result in Hatter getting in any trouble, but Mary couldn’t bear to look at it. She let Chastity drop to the floor, some part of her mind justifying the action in that with the room’s weaponry the overworked (and incompetent, if Mary’s experience was anything to go by) police force would chalk it up to a gang killing.

Tears stung at her eyes as she wiped the blood off in the bathroom. Her monstrous appearance could be passed off as a costume, but very real blood was going to raise alarms. Mary tried to keep her emotions in check, throwing towel after bloody towel on the floor. The woman was a hunter. It was self defense.

In any movie, she’d have been the hero. Mary was keenly aware that if a scriptwriter was dictating her life, by all rights she would be ash in that hotel room.

_“We’ll make heaven a place on earth.”_

Mary kicked the boombox on her way out.

\--

Entering Vesuvius through the back door made her life easier. Any good humor she had at the start of the night evaporated entirely by the time she crested the stairs to Velvet’s ‘office’, and Mary found that she didn’t care about accidentally walking in on anything. If she could be pushed to kill someone, Velvet could deal with her presence for a few minutes.

Thankfully, she found Velvet lounging in her hot tub alone, pen in hand and a leather bound notebook at the tub’s edge.

“Fledgling!” Velvet exclaimed, looking positively delighted to see Mary. “I’m so glad you’re back - it seems I’m destined for loneliness tonight.” She sighed dramatically - and quirked a brow when she saw the total lack of reaction offered.

“Chastity’s dead.” Mary said flatly. 

Velvet’s expression twisted to one of sympathy, and Mary wondered if she understood the flurry of emotions bubbling under the surface like the water of the hot tub. “Ah. Is David-”

“He fainted when he saw me. He’s fine.” Mary decided to say to hell with the rules and sat down on Velvet’s couch. It was plush and comfortable enough to tempt her to nap on it, though there were several hours til sunrise.

Velvet winced, but didn’t scold her. “There’s a cash box in the caddy next to you. Take what’s in it and buy yourself something nice.”

Mary leaned over to pull open the caddy’s shelf, and flipped open the box within. A couple hundred dollars in twenties awaited her, and she grimly wondered what her own life would be worth as she shuffled them into her wallet. “How’d the meeting with your knight go?” she asked though she didn’t particularly care for the answer, desperate for a change of subject.

“He’s not mine.” Velvet leaned against the tub’s edge, and Mary realized she was naked. Her attempt to avert her eyes only served to amuse Velvet. “I suppose we’d never be truly happy together. He’s terribly serious. I’ve been trying my hand at poetry, to express my loneliness.”

Mary made a noise of acknowledgement, tucking her wallet back into her pocket. Something told her Velvet would never have to worry about being alone if she didn’t want to be.

“Oh, I’ve made you even sadder.” Velvet pouted. “The knight did the same as you, though the hunters he killed were more numerous. It makes it easier - it’s hard to feel for a group. Individuals, though…” she tilted her head. “It was a necessary evil, but evil nonetheless. The sin is mine. Not yours.”

“Thanks, Velvet.” Mary mumbled, rising from her seat. She wanted to get some air, to distract herself - Ash’s club would, hopefully, provide all the distraction she needed.

“Call me VV.” Velvet purred. “All my best friends do. Say hello to your knight for me.”

“My knight?” Mary paused mid-step, now looking at Velvet in all her glory.

She smiled as if she held a secret. “He recognized you when I talked about you. The man has a soft heart for what’s expected of him. I hope no one eats it.”

“You don’t mean-”

VV rolled her eyes. “Nosferatu can be so _literal_. I mean our begrudging leader, the numbered man with eyes like Sinatra.”

“Nines.” Mary should have known, given that he was in town and Isaac as well as suggested he’d be meeting Velvet, and yet she was surprised. The mental image of Nines trying to weave his way through the club tempted her to laughter - likely to keep herself from crying at the stress the night had already given her. 

VV smiled and sank deeper into the water. “Give him my love, though he spurns it.” she sighed. “He was kinder about it than the Regent, at least - but I think Strauss enjoys the chase.”

The image of _Strauss_ in all his Camarilla propriety in Velvet’s club pushed Mary over the edge into actual laughter, and to her surprise Velvet joined her. When at last she gathered her composure again, Mary felt a little better.

“You’d make a matching set, that’s for sure.” Both of them seemed quite fond of red. “I gotta go. Isaac wants me to check in on Ash, and if he’s got a job for me I want it done before sunrise.”

“Oh, Ash.” VV replied morosely. “A lost boy, that one. If you can convince him to return home I’ll owe you more than money can buy.”

“Not with this face, I’m not.” Mary murmured.

“Ash is drowning in beauty. Perhaps a breath of fresh air is exactly what he needs.” VV mused. “You’d better run along. I hate to be kept in suspense. I’ll let Isaac know you helped.”

“Thanks, VV.”


	15. Hollywood II

The hardest part of making it into the Asp Hole was tearing her eyes away from the line waiting at the VIP entrance. Hollywood’s C-list had turned out in droves, trying to glean some prestige and posing for the handful of paparazzi who’d come like sharks to blood in the water. They drew some notice from Mary’s fellow pedestrians, but not enough to cause anyone else to pause as she did. A few faces she recognized from TV movies and schlocky horror films, and she realized that there was as large a void between them and the club’s owner as there was between her and them.

Mary looked longer than she had to. It was a distraction, really - a blissful reprieve from the memory of Chastity’s blood on her claws. Despite Velvet’s assurances, the experience was a black mark on her heart. Even only a couple hours out from the fight, she knew it wasn’t one she’d soon forget. 

At last she pulled her attention away from the VIP line and slipped into the back alley behind the club, letting her mission overtake her thoughts. It was pitch black, a sharp contrast to the neon washed street out front - but she could still hear the chatter from the sidewalk. A man in a trenchcoat stood at the end of the alley, squinting into the darkness. At first glance Mary thought he was Beckett for some absurd reason - but the predator within her could hear the faint patter of the man’s heartbeat from where she crouched a few yards away. He shifted, and she saw the outline of a crossbow at his back.

Another hunter. Somehow, he didn’t see her even without the power of the blood keeping her shrouded. Chastity was one of many, and she wasn’t intent on killing another that night. Carefully Mary picked the lock of the club’s back door, doing her best to be as quiet as possible. To her relief, the man didn’t notice when she finally cracked it and slipped inside before he could grow wise to her presence.

It was a glimpse behind the curtain - figuratively and literally, in that she was in a backstage area of the club. Sound and lighting equipment was shoved up against the walls, and the dance music coming from the club proper was muffled. The area was dim, the only source of light coming from an open door through which flashing colors poured through. It illuminated two bouncers standing nearby leaning against the wall. The larger of the two was busy devouring a footlong sandwich, the smaller one smoking even though Mary was certain there was some sort of bylaw against the practice. Expending blood just to squeeze past them was a waste. Experimentally she gave one of the stacks of equipment a shove, and to her surprise - and guilt - a spotlight haphazardly stacked upon it tumbled down to the ground. The crash startled Mary just as bad as it did the bouncers, and she had to hurry to hide behind a large speaker as they rushed to investigate. Like a rat she scurried out from her hiding place once they passed her by, and slipped through the door to the club proper before they could look back.

Mary stepped into a new world.

For the few weeks she’d spent among the undying, she’d seen a lot of things that were straight out of a horror movie. With colored lights dancing overhead and the music washing over her, it dawned on her that at last she’d stepped into another genre.

The dance floor was large and packed - a DJ on the nearby stage was spinning records of back to back hits, expertly mixing them. Bodies writhed and bounced and waved like a great beast - it’d have terrified her if not for the fact that she was blissfully unknown in their number. A woman wore enough rhinestones to look like a human disco ball, a man had strips of LED lights glued to him to make him look robotic, someone had an elaborate werewolf suit, yet another person had such elaborate makeup Mary thought they were an alien at first glance. A deeper look at the crowd soothed her worries - even as monstrous as she was, she was far from the oddest person within the club. It seemed as if everyone was desperately trying to one-up each other, and all had the finances to go as far as they intended to.

Awestruck she weaved her way past the dance floor, keeping her shoulder spikes tilted toward the wall. The last thing she needed was for someone to slice themselves open. Part of her longed to join the others on the dance floor - the music’s beat was contagious and the flashing lights drew her like a moth to the flame. It reminded her of stolen looks at music videos in her teens, smoke machines flooding the floor with a haze, a glamorous world she thought was restricted to the rich and famous. Now she was in a club owned by one of the best young actors of her time, surrounded by the rich and (semi) famous, and it was a cruelty that she could not join them.

Mary shook her head as she left the part of the club devoted to the dance floor, entering the section devoted to a central bar and a collection of plush booths. It was dimly lit by a band of purple neon ringing the bar, and it lent a fascinating ambience. The employees circling it wore more than those at Vesuvius, but not by much - animal ears on headbands the only things to suggest it was Halloween. They held drink trays and offered bottle service to groups of people clustered in the booths, and Mary wondered if her kind were able to enjoy such simple pleasures. 

Keeping herself on track was difficult. She’d come to see Ash -  _ Ash Rivers _ , actor extraordinaire - and the prospect both excited her and terrified her. Mary turned on the spot, overwhelmed and overstimulated, but at last her gaze drifted to a set of stairs nearly hidden between the booths. They were made of light themselves, boxes emitting faint yellow light. A sign pointing to them read ‘VIP’, and a large man stood in front of them.

It was her best bet, but Mary had no idea what her best course of action was. She couldn’t just walk up to the man and demand to see Ash, could she?

Asking politely never hurt, she supposed. Worst case scenario, she’d cloak herself and slip past him if she was turned away. She only hoped the guard would read her as particularly passionate about special effects makeup and not the monstrosity she was. Mary thanked the dim lighting for keeping the full horror of her appearance under wraps.

The guard didn’t flinch away from her at her approach - a good sign. He did, however, look down on her with a hefty dose of skepticism. His head was shaved bald, his right ear pierced with a gold earring. Even in the gloom she could see that the man was no stranger to the gym.

“Hi.” she began, already internally kicking herself for bothering to speak with the man at all. “I’m here to see Ash.” 

“Costume contest’s a cash reward, not a meeting with Mr. Rivers.” The guard replied. “You’re not on the VIP list.”

“Isaac Abrams sent me.” 

That provoked a change - it was as if she’d just threatened the man with a gun, the way he suddenly seemed to shrink. Still, he held firm where he stood. “Mr. Rivers doesn’t want to be disturbed tonight. Especially by anyone working for Mr. Abrams.”

“He’ll see her.” A familiar voice shouted from some distance behind her, and Mary looked over her shoulder to see none other than Nines approach. 

If he looked out of place in Isaac’s office, he looked even more out of place in a modern club. He was still in his road leathers, any pretence of having a costume completely ignored. Mary knew him well enough to note that he was uncomfortable - there was a tension in his jaw and a stiffness to his posture, and if he was human she’d blame it on the heat from wearing such a heavy leather coat indoors. Something about him feeling just as out of place as she did soothed her.

“She’s with me.” Nines added, at the guard’s silence. The phrase set off an odd fluttering feeling in Mary’s chest.

While mention of Isaac made the guard pale, the sight of Nines had him wary. However, the guard didn’t ask any questions - he merely held his hand up in a gesture for the two of them to wait. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” 

Mary waited until the guard ascended the stairs to turn to Nines, dumbstruck. Seeing him in such a place wasn’t what she expected - and seeing him utilize his reputation reminded her of just how large the abyss between them was. “What are you doing here?” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

Nines shuffled close to her so they wouldn’t have to raise their voices quite so much. “Same reason as you, I think. Looking after Isaac’s kids for him.” His displeasure was obvious, but didn’t linger - he was studying her, to Mary’s own panic, and concern had replaced his anger. “You look rattled. Rough night?”

“I’m fine.” Mary lied first, but he didn’t look convinced. “... I killed a hunter for Velvet a couple hours ago. She, um… sends her love, by the way.”

Bemusement overtook his features. “I’m sure she does. Got it in her head a couple years ago that I’d be a good feather in her cap - she ran out of everyone interesting in the city, I think.” he explained, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I think she does it just to bug me now.” Nines seemed eager to change the subject, and Mary wondered with some amazement how he didn’t seem at all interested in the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. “She’s got you doing the same thing I’m here for, then. Hollywood’s crawling with hunters, thanks to  _ Mr. Rivers. _ ” Mary didn’t know that annoyance and pity could mingle in one voice, and yet the subject of Ash drew it forth from Nines nevertheless. “Did the hunter give you any trouble?”

Mary didn’t know why Nines cared - she was still standing healthy and whole before him. The rest was immaterial. Yet in spite of herself she opened her mouth, speaking so weakly he had to lean forward to hear her. “The hunter - she was singing along to a song I like. Liked. I did the same thing, before...” Mary gestured to her face. He frowned. She swallowed out of habit more than necessity, trying to clear the path for the words she wanted to say. “If it was a movie, I’d be some monster she’d kill. I could have gone to high school with her, and I tore her face open the second her blade cut me. Are we sure they don’t have the right idea?”

Nines was silent for a moment, the bass of the club music almost overwhelming. “Maybe, if they cared about collateral. Hunters kill as many innocents as they do us. More, probably. They don’t do it to protect people, Mary.” 

It didn’t make her feel much better, but it helped soothe the burn. Any expression of gratitude on her part was swiftly ended by the return of the bodyguard.

"Mr. Rivers is busy, but he'll see you when he's finished." The guard explained. "Stay in the club. I'll get you when he's ready. Feel free to use the booths."

"Thanks." Nines replied flatly. He tilted his head to Mary, gesturing for her to follow him as he headed for one of the more secluded booths by the bar. "Might end up waiting here all night. Have you ever had the VIP experience?"

"No." she answered, thankful for the way his bulk parted the crowd. It let her follow behind him relatively unnoticed, and more crucially bought her a little personal space. "I'm guessing it's useless taking advantage of bottle service, huh. I could go for getting drunk tonight."

He smiled tiredly at her over his shoulder. "I don't remember you being much of a drinker." Pausing by one of the booths, he gestured for her to sit down first.

"Not when we met." she admitted. "After." Mary dipped her head when she saw a brief flash of pain cross his expression, and distracted herself by sliding into the booth. “Nothing crazy, just some fun on the weekends. Sometimes.”

The seats were plush suede, and Mary wondered how on earth they were kept clean. Like the bar, the booth was illuminated by purple light, four of its sides walled in. It muffled the music enough to make conversation easier. At the center of the semicircle of seats was a round coffee table. It was engineered both for hosting a party or a couple wishing for some secrecy.

In another world, they might have qualified for the latter.

Nines sat across from her, letting out an audible sigh of relief, and Mary wondered if the glimpse of pain she'd seen was just a hallucination. He looked genuinely pleased to be seated, leaning his head back as if tempted to fall asleep right there and granting her a wonderful view of his neck. 

"You look like you could go for a drink too."

It drew a low chuckle from him, and Mary swelled with pride at the achievement. He dropped his head and looked at her once more.

"Long night." he confessed. Nines turned his head to gauge the crowd at the bar. "There's a few people that are drunk enough to do the trick, but it's a waste of good blood. You're with the wrong guy for a party - Jack's better at that sort of thing."

Mary raised a hairless brow at that particular revelation. "We can still get drunk?"

"If whoever you're drinking is. It takes a lot. Like I said - it's a waste." His tone started sounding more like a concerned adult than anything, and it gave Mary school assembly flashbacks. "You think humans do dumb shit while they're drunk? Being Kindred opens up a lot of possibilities. I won't stop you if you want to give it a try, but I can't look after you all night."

She had to admit a lack of control in her new form sounded terrifying - overriding any appeal escaping her own mind for a few hours held. "I'll pass." Mary peered back at the dance floor, her foot starting to tap in time with the music. The bodyguard still held vigil by the stairs. A thought struck her, and she was blurting it out before she could think better of it. "Does everyone know who you are out here?"

Nines seemed uncomfortable when she looked back at him. "Just Isaac's crew. He's got his ghouls working security here. Not that they're doing a good job."

"If you mean the hunter out in the alley -"

He shook his head and leaned forward, immediately stealing away any recollection of what she meant to say. The rumble of his voice at her ear sent shivers down her spine. "Look behind me. To the right of the doors. Don't tilt your head, just look with your eyes."

True to his word, a man stood looking as if he was dressed like Van Helsing. As the man shifted his weight, Mary caught sight of a concealed sawed off shotgun under his coat. 

"That's one way to win a costume contest." she whispered back, and he chuckled - sending another ripple of goosebumps across her crater ridden skin. 

Nines reclined again, and Mary found herself both thankful for the space and missing his nearness. "If you read the tabloids, you'd know Ash just walked away from his third 'lethal' car crash without a scratch this year."

"I didn't know you liked gossip mags." she replied, unable to help herself from smiling at the image.

"I don't. Neither does Damsel, but they're a surprisingly good way to find out what's going on in Hollywood if you read between the lines. She's good at that."

That was an even more amusing mental image - Damsel, fuming over a magazine with guesses at celebrity pregnancies on the cover. When understanding dawned on her, however, Mary sobered quickly. "That doesn't sound very subtle."

"No, it doesn't." That tightening in his jaw had returned. "A cry for attention, you could call it."

"Whose attention is he trying to get?"

"Isaac's." Nines shook his head. "Ash's embrace wasn't on his terms. You're seeing the fallout." At her sudden horror, he continued. "Isaac isn't a monster. He didn't want to see another talented kid die young. Thing about kids is they're smarter than people give them credit for - kindred or kine. Isaac's starting to forget what it's like to be young." He cast her a meaningful look. "You've talked to him. You probably know."

"Yeah." she agreed quietly, feeling a wave of sympathy for the actor. Casimir had left her on her own, but she wondered if it wasn't better than having him act as if he knew what was best like Isaac did. "... do you have a lot of experience with kids?"

Nines didn't respond for a few moments, the beat of the music overtaking them. "Not in this life." he answered at last. “Had a lot of younger siblings.” From the look in his eyes she knew it was a sensitive subject - even as she held onto the tiny scrap of information. His position in the anarchs clicked for her - another large family, of sorts, even if it couldn’t ever be the same. Mary was both thankful she had no one to leave behind and saddened that her mortal life held no such joys.

Without thinking, she spoke. “You knew me when I was human. You probably know more about me than anyone.” Mary tried not to wince at that - how her closest friend was one whose thoughts she was so terribly uncertain of. “But I don’t know anything about you. Not really.”

“Not much to tell from before.” he replied, gaze growing somewhere far away. “I was born here, but my family moved out to Texas to work on a ranch. Spent a while there.” Mary could tell he was trying to keep his tone emotionless, but the longing in it managed to creep through. A familiar emotion - the impossible wish to go back. “Dust Bowl hit, my father died, things fell apart. Moved back here when I was fourteen. Haven’t left since.”

Mary wanted to know more, but his posture hardened. To her awe, she saw her own mannerisms mirrored in him - it was as if she could see him put the walls back up and sweep away his thoughts. She wondered if it was as obvious when she did it, or if he was relaxed enough to let himself be obvious around her. 

Nines noted her silence, and offered a grim smile. “I’m a farm boy. Nothing exciting.”

He wasn’t going to tell her anything more any time soon, that much was obvious. She tried to imagine him in his youth, running along wheat fields or leaning against a fence post - and found that recollections of what daylight was like were fast escaping her. It was a frightening thing, how it was slipping through her fingers - and she could only guess at how much worse it was for him.

“Isaac’s had his own troubles.” Nines continued their previous topic of conversation, clearly eager for a change of subject. “He didn’t start with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he’s been on top long enough I figure it’s hard to remember what it’s like on the bottom. You caught me in the middle of reminding him.”

"Well." Mary huffed, forcing her mind back on track. "That explains why Isaac was so pissed. Why are you helping him out? You don't have LaCroix yanking your chain."

The energy from before returned. "Isaac's not a monster." Nines repeated for emphasis. "Just old. Not that much older than I am, if I'm being honest." A grimace. "Most of what I do is checking up on people, solving problems. Isaac means well - again, his boys are working security here, he’s not leaving the kid completely alone. I figure half the reason he's asking us to check in for him is because he's afraid of pissing Ash off any more."

Another stretch of silence between them. The music was starting to build in energy again, pivoting from hot and heavy anthems to increasingly electric beats. 

"... you know, it's funny." she began. "When I thought about those weeks I spent next door, after…" Mary trailed off, uncertain of how to describe the time after her initial brush with Nines, when her heart still beat. After he ghosted her? After she'd started her life over again?  _ After _ was the only word she could ever think of. Unable to find the phrasing, she skipped ahead. "I always thought they were kind of like a movie. It’s a little weird to be somewhere like this now."

Nines' smile was a bashful little thing foreign on his features. His eyes avoided hers. At first Mary thought she'd embarrassed him with her navel gazing, but she realized he was looking at the way her leg was bobbing up and down in time with the music. His next words were unexpected. 

"You should go dance, if you want to." he jerked his chin toward the crowded dance floor, its residents bouncing just as Mary's leg did. "Might not get another chance this year."

It was her turn to be bashful, though it was quickly colored by self-loathing. The only night of the year she could pretend to be normal was the one where it was acceptable to be a monster. "I don't really know how." she admitted. "I'm bad at it. Besides, no one wants to see me out there. If I don't impale someone by accident." She gestured at the spines growing from her shoulder - one of the few that hadn't been snapped off was starting to grow encased by some metallic substance, becoming even more like a blade.

"There's people out there too drunk to remember how to dance, if they ever knew. Fuck what other people want to see. You want to dance, you've got a right to." Nines replied, shooting down her excuses like he was a practiced hand at it. "You won't hurt anybody. You might even be better at dancing than you think." His grin widened, turning playful - his fangs caught the dim light. "From what I saw with the plaguebearer's building, you're graceful when it counts."

"Don't tease me." she muttered, and he responded by levelling a flat look her way.

"I don't tease."

If only he knew.

Mary cast a longing glance at the dance floor to distract herself, the repeating melodies hypnotic. Still, she'd be seen - the dance floor offered no darkness to protect her. Anxiety and excitement warred within her.

"Alright." she said at last, and Nines looked confused when she didn't rise from her seat. "I'll cut you a deal."

"Didn't know you turned Ventrue in the past five minutes."

Mary forged ahead, bewildered by her own boldness. "I'll go if you come with me."

It took him by surprise, and he barked a laugh. He looked a little less exhausted. "If I go with you, I'll embarrass you."

"What happened to no one else knowing how to dance?"

"I knew how to dance. That's worse. You don't want an old man out there." 

For a brief, ridiculous moment she thought _ Nines  _ of all people was self conscious - but the sneering voice in her mind offered the more likely solution of him wanting to avoid any more association with her than he had to have.

Maybe he took pity on her, because at her sudden silence he stood abruptly and extended his hand to her. "Alright." he agreed. "Fuck it."

The next few moments were dreamlike - she slipped her hand into his and he led her back through the crowds, the music growing louder and louder as they approached the dance floor. The entire club was filled with a haze from the smoke machine now, diffusing the colored spotlights. It was something out of her human fantasies, something out of a movie, something never meant for her - human or kindred.

Yet his hand gave hers a reassuring squeeze. The sensation was almost overwhelming, combined with the lights and music. He found them both a space on the dance floor near the wall - on the side her spikes were at, so she had no fear of bumping into anyone. It was as secluded as they could get in such a place, and offered clear sight lines for the exits. Mary wondered if it was his way of being chivalrous.

Any similarities to a film ended as they both stood awkward and still, surrounded by moving bodies. Both of them were deeply uncomfortable, both of them had no idea what to do, and the bass was strong enough to rattle her bones. It'd be easier with a few drinks in her, that much she'd learned from mortal life, but the only intoxicating thing nearby was Nines' damned eyes.

Mary told herself to relax - she'd wanted this, hadn't she? She closed her eyes, trying not to think of the crowd around her. Nines had thrown himself into the fire with her, and the realization shot through her like adrenaline. With effort she shoved away her worries and anxieties - she was just another person in costume. She belonged.

Slowly Mary started to sway with the beat, and she found that the increased awareness undeath had granted her of her body worked to her advantage. It was truly as if the music was flowing through her, the energy buoying her upward, her body moving in time with the crowd. When she opened her eyes, she saw Nines grinning at her like an idiot, and laughed in spite of herself. He was still standing as if rooted to the floor, but at least he was making an effort to bob along.

"You said you knew how to dance!" she shouted over the music.

"I wasn't that good at it even when it matched the music!" he shouted back. "You can't swing dance to - what is this?"

"Madonna, I think." Mary looked up at the DJ, as if he'd offer any answers. The man was far too busy with his laptop. "You used to swing dance?"

"Poorly." he replied, still awkwardly bobbing along. Nines' discomfort was screamingly obvious, mirroring her own - and something about the shared experience made it fun.

It was her turn to extend her hand to him - for the first time she felt confident he'd take it. "Dare you to try."

Nines’ eyes flashed with an emotion she didn't recognize, narrowing with focus. To her joy, he took her hand and tugged her close - he wasn’t one to ignore a challenge.

"It's been a while." he warned, adjusting her hand placement on his body. Mary tried not to focus on the feeling - through his leathers she couldn’t feel much other than how sturdy he was, but even that was nearly enough to overwhelm her. "And we have about four square feet to move in."

"I thought excuses were my thing." Mary beamed up at him, thrilled to have flipped the script. She hoped her tone didn’t sound too pathetic.

"I'll get us an empty dance floor next time."

_ Next time. _

The words rang in her head as he dipped her to and fro, spinning her with the utmost care given toward the spikes at her shoulder. Their movements were a little clumsy and entirely off beat on more than one occasion - but she didn’t care. Mary's world was a blur of watercolor, she smiled so much her cheeks hurt - Nines was laughing, and so was she, and for a few moments the world beyond them was forgotten. They must have made something of a scene, stumbling about, but no one stopped them. The song changed but they didn't stop - eventually they gave up any pretence at fancy footsteps and just jumped along to the blaring synth music with the rest of the crowd. Mary never wanted it to end.

As with most things in her life, however, most good things didn't last long. Nines stopped moving, looking at something behind her - and when Mary turned to follow his gaze, she saw the bodyguard at the stairs to the VIP section waving at them.

Reality came crashing down, and Mary stilled. She looked up at Nines, silently pleading with him as if he had any power to keep the dream alive for just a few more seconds. He looked just as crestfallen as she did.

"No rest for the wicked." he said, only audible due to her proximity to him. Whatever man he’d been in the minutes before was gone, replaced by the leader of the anarchs once more.

Mary followed him off the dance floor, feeling as if she was leaving some part of herself behind with it. Was this how it’d always be? Only the briefest moments of calm between the blood?

The guard only nodded at their approach, moving aside so they could ascend the stairs. Any growing resentment on her part was tempered by the thrill of entering the VIP section - at least new and interesting discoveries awaited her. She only hoped that Ash wouldn’t ask her to kill anyone.

It was nearly empty in the VIP section despite how crowded the rest of the club was. It overlooked the shifting dance floor, taunting Mary. The couches were leather, the lighting a little brighter - drawing her eye to the section’s sole inhabitant.

Ash Rivers. Superstar actor, artistic prodigy, frequent star of tabloid covers. He sat in the booth furthest from the stairs, the darkest part of the section he could find. His displeasure was clear as Nines and Mary approached him.

Save for her clan, the overwhelming majority of Kindred she met were attractive in some sort of ethereal way. Ash Rivers, however, was magnetic in a distinctly human fashion. Up close she could see a scattering of stubble across his jaw and the artful way his hair was disheveled. Ash looked bored, but she recalled Velvet’s words when he looked her in the eye.

His were sad.

It was stupid, how after everything it was meeting a celebrity that had Mary dwelling on just how unreal her life had become - but seeing a man she’d seen on the screen in the flesh was distinctly surreal. Any excitement on her part disappeared when disgust twisted his handsome features. Mary’s appearance was all too real.

Ash’s attention was directed at Nines, however. “Isaac can’t come himself, can he.”

“I think he’s respecting your space.” Nines offered in reply. “I’m here to deal with your hunter problem.”

“The fuck you need to talk to me for, then?” Ash snapped, sinking further into the couch. Mary was struck by how young he seemed - acting like an adolescent. “I don’t know where they’re coming from. You’re the big shot here, figure it out.”

Nines glanced at Mary over his shoulder, looking more exhausted than he’d been when she first saw him. She had to admit the exchange was draining, but something about Ash was familiar to her.

“It’s your club.” he spread his hands in a placating action. “Figured I should see if there’s anything else you want dealt with while I’m here.”

“You could burn the place to the ground.” Ash muttered - sparing Mary a glance. She realized he’d barely taken note of her. His disgust was directed entirely at Nines. “Or melt those Oscars of his into a hammer to smash every picture in his office.”

“Vandalism’s not in my wheelhouse.” Nines smiled without humor - Mary saw another glimmer of pain cross his features, so subtle it passed Ash’s notice entirely. “Alright. Take care of yourself, kid.”

It surprised her, how he didn’t engage with Ash’s hostility. It surprised Ash too, given how his shoulders only seemed to slump more with every barb cast aside. Nines turned to leave - placing his hand on Mary’s shoulder just as he had in Isaac’s office. This time, he leaned in to murmur in her ear.

“I can’t kill every hunter, and if he doesn’t leave here it’s only going to draw more attention. He’s going to need an escort out. I’ll draw as many of them off as I can, but I’ll wait up downstairs. I’ll vouch for you to Isaac if Ash’s stubborn.” Nines’ breath was cool against her neck, and she found it difficult to focus on what he was saying. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. I know it’s tempting, but don’t rough the kid up.”

The appalled look she cast him seemed to reassure him, and he gave her a brief nod before releasing her shoulder. Mary watched him head back down the stairs.

“Aren’t you going with him?” Ash’s sneering tone brought her attention back to him. There was something in his anger she recognized - and as she stared at him she realized where she’d seen it before.

Her distorted reflection in the broken mirror.

“No.” Mary sat down in the booth across from him, curious as to how a man who’d topped dozens of Sexiest Man Alive lists could hold such hatred for himself. He was frozen in his prime, handsome, youthful - and if the club was any indicator, successful. From what she knew of Isaac and Velvet, he was loved.

Ash looked at her suspiciously, recoiling more from unease than disgust at her appearance - though his nose wrinkled as anyone else’s did. “So what do you want? I thought you people went and died on us.”

“I’m new.” she answered. “I don’t know what my clan’s up to. I’m here because - you know, I’ll make it short.” Mary leaned forward. “I’m trapped, and the only way out is running favors. I think.” She winced. “I hope. I’ve got to do Isaac a favor. He told me to check in with you and VV.”

The use of the name  _ VV _ caused him to relax, if only by a small degree. “You don’t know what being trapped is.”

Mary had to keep herself from laughing, incredulous. “Don’t I?”

“You have no idea.” Ash turned to look at the stage. “Isaac wants me to fade away like he has. Couldn’t let me burn out. Still can’t, if you’re here because of him. Don’t pretend like you care. At least Rodriguez knows when he’s not wanted.”

Being insulted by a celebrity in normal circumstances would have dealt a massive blow to her self-esteem. With what Ash was saying, however, she found the embers of her temper fanned into a flame. Nines had warned her for a reason.

Mary scowled. “Yeah? Rodriguez also told me he’d deal with my little favor problem, but I’m still here. Try again. Besides, you’re talking. If you wanted me gone you could’ve given me the silent treatment like everyone else. Don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but I’m the type who’s  _ never _ wanted.”

Ash looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and she noted with victory that a trace of guilt colored his features. Good. “What do you want?”

“I want to understand.” she said truthfully. “I met Velvet. She seems to be enjoying things. You’ve got all this -” Mary gestured at the club. “- and people who care about you enough to be sending  _ Nines _ over to help you out. But it’s not enough.” Her claws clicked against each other as she studied him - up close the sheen of celebrity was tarnished. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his irises seemed dull. This close she could see the corpse in him. “Why?”

Ash closed his hollow eyes and let his body slump against the back of the couch. “None of it matters. You don’t know what it’s like - it’s like my wings were clipped. Isaac gave me this club as a consolation prize, as if it could replace what life was like. He thinks I can spend decades like he does, working in the shadows, worrying about shit that doesn’t  _ matter _ .” He opened his eyes and looked back at her. “An eternity like this. Stasis. Every night used to be exciting - new women. New drugs. New. Now blood’s all that matters. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anything anymore.”

“Why don’t you leave?” Mary asked, keeping her temper leashed. “You can go anywhere. You could see the world. Learn about what we are, talk to people about what it was like hundreds of years ago. You’ve got eternity to discover everything.” It was her own wishes she was speaking of, but all of them were so within reach for Ash that it made her want to shake him. 

He scoffed, the lights of the club reflected in his eyes. “You don’t get it. I’m  _ Ash Rivers. _ People will recognize me, they’ll get suspicious.”

“They aren’t suspicious already?” she countered. “I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but there’s a hunter in your club as it is.”

Ash deflated. “Isaac wouldn’t let me.”

“ _ Fuck _ Isaac.” Mary said emphatically. “It sounds to me like staying here’s going to kill you. If he cares about you at all, he’ll understand that.”

That made him laugh - a humorless, bitter expression. “Isaac thinks I’m one of his trophies. He wants to keep me on a shelf like the rest of them." Nines had said the man wasn't a monster, and Mary dearly hoped Isaac's treatment of Ash was due to overbearing parenting rather than something darker. "He doesn’t listen, he tells me I’ll feel better in a few years. I don’t want to live - if that’s what you can call it - another  _ minute _ like this. I could walk out into a blaze of gunfire. Or maybe I’ll catch a sunrise instead. Maybe then he’d understand that I can’t keep doing this.”

“It’d be too late. No point in revenge if you can't see it." Mary reached out and placed her hands on his knees. Ash flinched. “Look at me.”

At last, he tore his gaze away from the stage and looked back at her.

“I know what it’s like. Even before this - I had someone who  _ owned _ me. I wasn’t myself. I was drowning. I got out on a fluke, but once I did - I was me again. For a little while.” she swallowed. “Now I look like this. You think you’re trapped here? I’m trapped in this body. All the places you could go, I can’t. So believe me when I tell you that I’m not going to watch you try to burn out here.” She tightened her grip on him just enough to steady his shaking legs. “We’re getting you out of here. Out of LA, if you want. D’you have a car that  _ isn’t _ totalled?”

Ash gaped at her, speechless. “You’re serious.” he said after a few moments. “Isaac will -”

“Fuck Isaac.” Mary repeated. “If he’s what you say he is, I don’t care what he thinks or what he’ll do. If he's a good man, he'll leave you alone. If you want to walk into a sunrise once you’re out in the world and able to do what you want, I won’t stop you, but I want you to have a chance to be you again first.”

“I’ve got a house in the hills.” Ash said slowly. “But there’s no way we’ll get there.” A shade of regret crossed his features. “I made sure of that. We’ll be dead before we leave Sunset Boulevard. Look, you're… it's nice of you, but it's not in the cards for me to fade away. Burning out's all I got."

"Then we get out of Hollywood. We'll take the sewers. Give it one night, let me get you to Santa Monica. I've got a haven there, and you can stay while you figure out where to go. Lay low for a while, if you want."

Somewhere in her mind Bertram's warning echoed, reminding her that treating her haven like a bed and breakfast was probably a bad idea. Mary tossed it aside. Nines had opened his door to her when she was in need. Mary was intent on paying it forward with Ash.

"Fine." Ash surrendered, sounding more annoyed than anything. It was an improvement over the hollow way he spoke before. "If it'll get you off my back, fine."

Mary stood and he followed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Ash was looking longingly at the stage again.

"Is there anything you need from here before we go?"

"No." he answered. Together they walked down the stairs.

Nines was engaged in conversation with the ghoul guard when Mary and Ash made their descent. His eyes widened at the sight of both of them, followed by a ghost of a smile he was quick to hide. A quiet word was offered to the bodyguard, who quickly departed. "Good to see you, Ash."

The actor only scowled and rubbed at his arm. "We're leaving, I guess. Seems your friend has as much a death wish as I do."

Mary peered around the club - she couldn't find the hunter anymore. Something on Nines' jacket sleeve glistened - it only took her a second to realize it was blood. 

Nines exchanged a conspiratorial look with her before speaking. "What way do you plan on taking?"

"The sewers. I saw a few hunters in them closer to the club, but if we can make it a few blocks down we'll be set." she answered.

"I'll make a scene, see if I can't draw some heat. It's been a while since I've been bait." To Mary's surprise, he flashed that rare smile of his again - he was  _ eager _ to throw himself into the line of fire. 

Brujah.

"Are you insane?" Ash piped up, loudly enough that his voice nearly carried over the music. "They've got phosphorus rounds. Isaac's scared shitless of them, there's way too many -"

Nines shifted subtly - to block Ash from view of passerby, Mary realized. "This isn't my first rodeo." he said confidently. She wanted to believe him, but a bubble of worry formed in her throat. What if something happened? "I know how to handle hunters."

"Does she?" Ash gestured to Mary.

She and Nines looked at each other - Mary wasn't entirely sure of the answer herself. She'd killed Chastity, but that was a one on one battle without phosphorus rounds involved. "I know how to hide." she answered instead.

"That's your best bet." Nines agreed. "You've got time tonight. You can afford to be cautious." He looked between her and Ash with something resembling pride. "You're always welcome at The Last Round, Ash."

"Thanks." he replied, clearly far from gracious. 

Nines took it in stride, at least. "I took care of the guy in here and the one in the alley out back. I'll jump in the tunnels first, pull them up above ground to clear the way for you two."

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Ash murmured as the three of them made their way to the club's back exit. Several patrons turned to gawk as they passed by, whispering excitedly to themselves at seeing  _ the _ Ash Rivers. It was a mirror of how people would stare at her, even if this time people were smiling instead of resisting the urge to vomit.

True to Nines' word, the second they exited into the night Mary could smell blood in the nearby dumpster - she figured that it was the unfortunate final resting place of the hunter patrolling the alley. Mary helped Nines pull open the sewer access grate a yard down the alley.

"Seems like tonight's one for flipping the script." he observed, peering down into the darkness. When he looked back up he caught her eye. "I know you can handle yourself, but be careful. Don't get too in your head."

Mary's head was her only safe haven, and she was tempted to tell Nines as much. Instead she nodded. "I won't be around to feed you rats again, so don't get your ass kicked."

"Damsel's starting to rub off on you." he smirked. "Noted. Good night, Mary."

She watched him climb down into the dark. From where he stood leaning against the back wall of the club, Ash scoffed. 

Mary frowned over at him. "You got a problem?"

"Do you two ever listen to yourselves?" He looked at her incredulously. "We could be dead in a few hours."

"Even more reason to have fun while you can." 

Ash opened his mouth to respond, but the echoes of gunfire from below interrupted whatever venom he'd gathered up to spit. He hurried over to peer down into the dark with Mary.

"I should be scared." he said quietly. "But I'm not."

"I know the feeling." Mary kept her worry from strangling her, the voice in the back of her head working overtime as a doomsayer. She listened carefully, waiting for the clamor below to fade into the distance. "Okay. Stick close. I've got a map of the place, and with any luck we'll bypass anyone else. Let's make sure Nines isn't getting his jacket ruined for nothing."

"Pretty sure my shoes are worth more. There was a time I'd give a shit about getting them covered in shit."

"It's all relative, isn't it?" Mary observed cheerfully, before slowly lowering herself into the dark. Ash followed behind her, having sense enough to close the grate behind them. She got a good view of his too expensive to ruin shoes.

A corpse was floating down the waterway, the sewer rats hesitantly and curiously approaching it. Mary felt Ash stiffen behind her at the sight.

"... how new are you at this?" she whispered.

"I told you. Isaac's kept me sheltered." Ash answered under his breath.

He said he wasn't afraid, and she hoped he wasn't lying - the last thing she needed was for him to panic at the wrong moment. Slowly she began to creep through the sewers with Ash at her back, doing her best to stick to the shadows and take forgotten pathways off the beaten track. All was silent save for rushing water, and Mary tried to recall from memory the map of the underground. If they weren't ambushed, they'd make it to Santa Monica before sunrise.

They seemed to spend hours crawling in utter silence. Mary kept checking over her shoulder to ensure Ash was still following, and it never stopped feeling surreal to see a superstar actor creeping along in the filth behind her.

The main tunnel between Hollywood and Santa Monica was wide and sloped downwards, carrying all sort of detritus out to wastewater management systems or the sea. Mary didn't see any more bodies pass them by, and hoped Nines' work was successful. When at last they crossed into the familiar (she never thought she'd say that about sewage systems) tunnels of Santa Monica, Mary let herself relax.

"We're in the home stretch now." she broke the silence at last, and the tension radiating from Ash evaporated. "You owe Nines one."

"He only did it because Isaac asked him to." he said dismissively. "But you…" Ash paused. "I never got your name."

"Mary. Jack and Damsel call me Briar Mary, if you want to be fancy."

"Oh. The thorns. Makes sense." Ash laughed weakly, and Mary got the sense that if he didn't laugh he'd be crying. "Wonder what my name says about me, then."

"Despite appearances I'm not a virgin, so I wouldn't worry too much about names." she joked, trying to lighten his mood a little.

"Huh. Didn't think Rodriguez was into that sort of thing." he mused, earning a glare from Mary. "What?"

"Don't joke like that around him. We're friends. I think. Everyone says I'm Camarilla, so I don't really know how the rules work there."

"Explains why Isaac sent you to deal with me. Let the Camarilla asshole deal with the problem child so he doesn't have to."

"He also sent me to chat with VV, for what it's worth."

"How'd she handle a Nosferatu in her club?"

"She said I had sad eyes."

"VV's always been good at noticing things like that." Ash was silent for a few moments. "I'll miss her."

"You can still keep in touch." Mary said gently. "Wherever you go."

It soothed him. "Yeah. Maybe."

She led them through a few more twists of tunnel, changing the subject to something a little lighter. "We're almost at our exit. So, heads up, the place is kind of a shithole -"

"Great. I'm not being sarcastic." Ash perked up. "If I have to look at luxury anymore I'm going to be sick." 

They found the grate that exited into the pawnshop alley, and in a few minutes they stood in the dreary surroundings of her haven. Ash seemed to take comfort in the grime, though he was much less comfortable in his dirty clothes.

"You got a shower?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Um, there might be spare clothes in the hamper. I think the washing machines are on the floor below."

The unspoken knowledge that Mary had little use for either passed between them, but Ash at least had good manners not to say anything. When he closed the bathroom door behind him Mary sat down at her desk and plugged in her laptop. She nudged the curtain aside to peek out the window - the rain was still misting down so close to the seaside. 

Sounds of running water came from the bathroom, and Mary smiled to think of the oddness of her situation. It was something out of a teenager's fantasies, but nothing she'd ever daydreamed of. Her youthful dreams were of freedom, escape - if only growing up had been pleasant enough to keep her fantasies restricted to the young and beautiful.

Mary fished her phone out of her pocket, intending to charge it as well, but a subconscious urge stayed her hand. Nines had said he knew how to handle himself, and yet…

Her clawed thumb pressed the numbers on muscle memory. The dialtone rang in her ear as she spun to and fro in her chair, trying to keep her posture casual so her tone would follow.

"Yeah?" Nines answered after a couple rings, his voice hoarse. Fear laced through her at the sound, but she was relieved that he was well enough to speak.

"We just got in." Mary tried to keep her words vague, aware that others could be listening in. "Are you okay?"

He chuckled, though it sounded a little like a wheeze. "Never felt more alive. A couple extra holes, but nothing serious. You going to be safe for the day?"

"Safe as we can be." Mary swayed in her chair, wanting to say a million different things to him. "... tonight was good."

A beat of silence on the other end. "Glad you think so." 

Without a face to read, she didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not. "All things considered, I mean."

"You did good tonight." Nines' tone was all warmth, reassuring her that she hadn't mistepped. "I'll let Isaac know. Get some rest."

"Not like I have any choice. Sun's up soon." Mary peeked through the curtains again.

Nines' laugh rang in her ear, fast becoming her favorite sound in the world. "I mean it. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

It was such an ordinary conversation it made her chest hurt. Mary hadn't realized just how much she longed for normalcy. "Bye."

Ash got out of the shower not long after she hung up - wearing a tight t-shirt advertising some sort of surf company and a pair of board shorts. Mary wondered if Mercurio raided a surf shop and dumped his loot in her haven. Somehow Ash managed to make it look good - or maybe it was just how his eyes sparkled a little brighter.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at her bed. "You don't have a couch."

"I told you, it's a shithole." Mary said apologetically. "The mattress is comfy enough, and it doesn't smell. I know, you'd think with the stains -"

Ash was looking between her and the bed thoughtfully. "So do we…?"

If Mary was still capable of blushing, she'd turn bright red. "Oh, god, no." The look of offense that crossed Ash's features nearly made her laugh. "Not that - you're - I'd slice you to bits with these." she scrambled for her reasoning and gestured to the spikes growing through her shoulder for effect. "I'll curl up under the bed. I'm used to sleeping in the sewer, so it's an improvement, promise."

Ash sat down on the mattress with a hum. "What, they didn't give you a place to stay in LA proper?"

"LaCroix hasn't. Nines has offered, but… it doesn't feel right." Mary watched Ash squint at her, studying her, and squirmed under such close inspection.

Whatever he discovered, he didn't speak of it. "You got your night. I'm going to see if I can get a cab out of here tomorrow."

"If you want. I'm not here often, so if you want to crash it's not like you have to deal with me." Mary stood from her chair and stretched, feeling aches from closed wounds old and new. She sat down on the ground next to the bed and laid flat on the floor to slide under the frame. The darkness and close quarters were wonderfully soothing.

"I've only met two Nosferatu. They're both bitter assholes." Ash said from above her - she felt the mattress sag overhead as he lay down. "You seem to give a shit. It's nice."

"It's basic human decency." she said dismissively, trying to dodge the compliment.

"In case you haven't noticed, lady, we aren't human any more."

Mary closed her eyes, feeling exhaustion start to tug at her. "Doesn't mean we have to stop trying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Popping in for the rare author note to thank everyone tagging along for the ride here! A fluffy chapter, because things are gonna get bumpy. Prepare yourselves.


	16. Hollywood III

Phosphorus rounds to the shoulder never felt so good.

Nines flipped his phone shut and surveyed the damage he’d wrought in the alleyway, a stark contrast to the joy he’d felt only a few hours ago. That same joy had returned with a single phone call, and even as he overlooked the bodies of hapless hunters remorse at the destruction was unable to smother the shining beacon of hope that had ignited in full within him.

Ignited more literally, perhaps - his leather jacket was one of the casualties, set aflame when his Celerity couldn’t quite elude every shot. Ripping the burning thing off of his body had taken skin with it, melted and mingling with the leather. The resulting ache - and the bleeding wound in his gut from where a blade had punctured it - were the only things rooting him to the ground.

He’d seen Mary smile. Seen her laughing. Between the lights and her joy he saw her for what she used to be, for all the potential he’d seen in her before the turn of the millennium - and then she’d gone and convinced Ash Rivers to stave off death for at least another night. Mary could have asked him to throw down with a werewolf and he would have done it gladly.

Then she’d called him, and the vines she’d woven between his ribs came into bloom, light and warmth radiating throughout his body. At last, she’d grasped happiness - or at least felt comfortable expressing it. Mary wasn’t the lost fledgling he worried for any more, death hadn’t twisted her in anything more than her appearance, and despite having no need to breathe for close to a century he felt as if he could finally exhale.

It was raining again. Nines tipped his head up to the sky, and let it wash the blood from his face.

When he stopped in at The Last Round to check in before returning to his haven for the night, Skelter and Damsel were speaking in low tones at one of the booths - and to Nines’ surprise Jack reclined in the booth behind theirs reading a book. Nines moved to set his motorcycle helmet on the bar.

“You’re in a good mood.” Skelter observed as Nines shut the door behind him. Damsel had turned to squint at him, suspicious as always.

“Yeah?” Nines glanced over at the television, playing the late news as ever - currently rattling off the lists of deaths both suspicious and accidental on Halloween. One of the stories showed footage of a former Anarch safehouse, and he heard Damsel heave a sigh and scratch something down on her notepad. 

“You’re humming.” Skelter continued, his gaze fixed upon Nines. “Things with Isaac go that well?” It was only years of practice for matters much worse that kept Nines’ expression neutral as he became aware that he _was_ humming - scraps of a song likely lost to all living memory. 

“Did he finally admit we actually know what we’re doing?” Damsel added with a scowl, flipping open her phone and shooting off a text. Nines watched her fingers dance across the keys with some envy, still mystified as to how she managed to type out messages so quickly.

“Nah. Things went pretty badly.” Nines deposited himself in the seat across from Jack, mirroring him and kicking his feet up. “Mary showed up before we could say anything we’d regret.”

“Briar patch told me she was stopping by Tinseltown.” Damsel rubbed at the back of her neck, smudging pencil graphite from her fingers across the skin covering her jugular. Nines wondered when he’d started thinking of body parts in terms of arteries. “LaCroix’s got her searching for her clan. Maybe they’ve poked their heads out of the sewer long enough to see which side’s the right one.”

“Nosferatu don’t pick sides.” Jack broke his silence, licking his thumb and turning a page of his book. He cast Nines a knowing look out of the corner of his eye. “The smart ones, anyway.”

Damsel seemed to grow incensed on Mary’s behalf. “Well, _she_ did. You calling her stupid?”

 _She picked a side._ Nines kept his face neutral, casually pulling at where the booth’s upholstery had begun to unravel with his fingers.

“She’s a fledgling. They’re all stupid.” Jack replied with a cheeky grin.

Skelter was being quiet, as he usually tended to be when his compatriot found an argument to latch onto - and when Damsel looked to him for support he merely offered a shrug in response. Nines was who she turned her attention to next - and she frowned when she saw his apparent indifference.

“The kid says she’ll keep us informed of whatever errands LaCroix’s got her running. He’ll kill her if he finds out. That’s not stupid, it’s brave.”

“Stupid if she’s telling you about it.” Jack was needling her on purpose, now - Damsel was his favorite target, ever ready to rile up into a frenzy and taking the bait every time. It’d have been amusing if Nines didn’t know the reason why - anger was her only way to express the lack of control they’d all had in the past decade.

“She’s not stupid.” Nines intervened - and Jack was expecting it, judging by the twinkle in his eye. Too late he realized that was the purpose of the old anarch’s play all along - fortunately for Jack, his spirits were too high for him to feel much anger about being manipulated. “She got Ash Rivers out of Hollywood. I got lit up playing bait for them - Isaac’s kid owes me a favor.” 

“Bullshit.” Skelter finally spoke, brows raised - though the corner of his mouth was twitching upward, tempted to smile.

“It’s true.” Nines couldn’t help but grinning. “Nosferatu with a silver tongue. Who'd've thought.”

Damsel grumbled and took out her wallet, sliding a bill over to Skelter. Nines was tempted to ask what particular bet she’d lost, but figured it was probably something relating to the former actor’s lifespan. A subject he’d prefer not to dwell on.

“Well.” Skelter whistled, pocketing the cash. “Does Isaac know?”

“He’s going to, first thing tomorrow night.” Nines ignored the knowing chuckle Jack gave. 

“I should’ve given her my shotgun. She’s gonna need it, when he finds out.” Damsel grimaced. “Hope he doesn’t kill her.”

“He won’t.” Jack grinned, and Damsel reached over to pluck the book from his hands.

\--

Mary woke to the sight of the stained underside of her mattress, and found herself thankful both for Ash _not_ murdering her in the night and for something other than sewage to greet her waking eyes. She wriggled out from under the bed as quietly as she could, but found there was no need for silence soon enough.

“I’m still alive.” Ash spoke from above, and Mary had free license to grunt as she crawled to her feet. The wounds Chastity had inflicted on her had healed, but remaining stiff and still for so long had triggered their ache.

“That makes two of us.” Mary agreed, pulling open the fridge. To her surprise, there were another pair of blood packs within - a sticky note with Knox’s trademark scribbled vampire face stuck to the top of them. She tossed one to Ash - he fumbled the catch and stared at it as if it was alien to him. “... don’t tell me you’ve never had one of these.”

“I drank from the most beautiful women on earth every night. I didn't need these.” Ash replied, watching how she tore her bag open and mimicking her. They drank in silence, and she took the empty bag from him when he was finished. “Somehow that tasted better than any of them.” he added.

“Freedom tastes good.” Mary smiled at him. “Speaking of which - I better head back to Hollywood. I still haven’t earned mine. Are you going to be okay here?”

Ash nodded, searching for his phone amidst the tangle of dirty sheets and finding it after a few moments. “I was going to call a cab to the nearest bus station and take the first one I saw out of this place, but…” he frowned. “... it feels wrong.” At her sudden frown, he lifted his palm for her to wait. “I’m not going back to Hollywood. But for how much of a nightmare everything’s been, LA’s the only place I’ve ever been happy.”

“I know the feeling.” she said quietly. “But there’ll be other places.”

“Maybe.” Ash offered her his own weak smile in return. “I’ll send you a postcard. You want me to autograph anything while I’m here? You could probably pawn it for a couple hundred bucks.”

Money was something she could certainly use, but something told her it was better for him not to attract any more attention. “I’ll be okay.” She stood in silence for a few awkward moments, before finally reaching for the door handle.

“Hey.” Ash started as soon as her claws rested against the worn knob. “I’m, uh… sorry about how you look. I’d trade places if I could.”

Memories of the previous night danced through her mind, and her smile softened. “It’s not so bad. Take care, Ash.”

\--

There was an intruder.

Andrei could sense it in the air - the way his _szlachta_ scurried, the way the ambient energies vibrated like flies caught in a web. Oh, his prey was quick and quiet - he had no knowledge of their whereabouts, but he felt his creations snuff out one by one above.

It bothered him little. Fear was an emotion he no longer recognized - he’d transcended beyond it centuries ago. Fear was the anticipation of pain or the unknown, both subjects he welcomed with open arms.

His trespasser, however, stank of it. Their scent preceded them, musk and blood and terror, and Andrei drank it in as they drew near. He looked up at the wooden rack that had held up so many of his sculptures, so bloodstained it looked to be made of mahogany now. In that moment it lay empty, but as the stairs to his basement workshop creaked he knew it’d be host to a new masterwork soon enough.

Andrei felt the rush of air announcing the movement of his attacker, and did not turn as he reached his hand behind him, vitae igniting in his veins. A scream sounded from behind, music to his ears - his fingers had turned his trespasser's flesh into bleeding clay on contact, his will encompassing theirs sight unseen. It disappointed him. They were weak, submitting with ease. A fledgling, perhaps.

He turned to behold them. A gangrel woman thrice frenzied, eyes and claws and thin coat of fur. Andrei smiled. He’d force more frenzies upon her, her clan one that met his halfway when it came to concepts of transcendence. Her form was desperately reaching to mirror that of a beast - it was erupting through the cracks in her fragile human shell. He would be happy to oblige. To augment. 

“To incur the rights of hospitality, a Cainite must first offer good will.” he lectured. “I will honor you with better than your trespass deserves.”

Andrei’s smile only widened, seeing that glint of hope within the gangrel’s eyes. A glimmer he wished he could bottle, silver bright and delicate.

“You will Become.”

\--

It was raining by the time Mary made it back to Hollywood, her good mood from the night before still lingering. Isaac’s doorman didn’t make her wait out in the cold on her second visit - he ushered her in with haste, and when she entered the baron’s pristine office his back was to her.

The close of the door behind her muffled all other sound. She stood in silence, ready to argue Ash’s case for him - ready to go to war. Whatever Isaac would throw at her; cruel words, Presence itself, Mary was ready to contest.

Yet he did not speak. His attention was focused on a low cabinet behind his desk, filled with all sorts of curios. At first she believed he was trying to unnerve her, but his face tilted to catch the faint light cast by the lamp on his desk and she realized he was lost in melancholy.

“Have I been so blind?” Isaac broke the silence, looking over his shoulder at last. “I suppose you must think I’m cruel.”

Mary swallowed to lend her throat strength. “That depends. Do you plan on going after him?”

“No.” he breathed, tilting his head away from her and closing his eyes. “I’ve been trying for too long to save him.”

Her posture slumped, the weaponry and walls she’d conjured up falling to pieces about her. So Nines was right - Isaac was no monster. Merely a flawed man who’d driven his childe from his arms.

“I’m sorry. For what it’s worth.”

Isaac shook his head, squaring his shoulders and taking on the mantle of Baron once more. So many masks, people wore. Bertram, Nines, Damsel, Ash, Isaac. Her. Perhaps even LaCroix. Roles and masks and mirrors, enough to drown in. Webs of favors and lies.

Mary had destroyed one, at least - offered Ash a chance at living without. She hoped it’d last.

“You’ve done what I’ve asked of you. VV has sung your praises, and Rodriguez was waiting by my door to do the same. I’ll suffer doing LaCroix a favor for that.” Isaac drew himself to his full height and turned to face her properly, changing demeanor so drastically she wondered if the man she’d seen moments before had been a mere hallucination. “I don’t know where your clan is, but their disappearance coincides with a troubling development in the barony. I believe we have a Tzimisce on our hands.”

Mary's mind had caught on the idea of Nines singing her praises, and it took her a moment to comprehend the rest of what Isaac was saying. "Tzimisce?"

"They're a Sabbat clan and the closest thing to true evil you're likely to see. Fleshcrafters. Unfortunately it's no surprise to me that they'd be attracted to Hollywood. There's rot under the glamour." Isaac looked pained, and Mary wondered if Ash had once been victim to it. "I had an agent following up on reports of monstrous creatures - it seems they've been making _snuff films_ with their monstrosities. They left for the site of one such film two nights ago and haven't come back."

The words _snuff film_ filled her with nausea though she had no need to eat in weeks. Mary breathed in through her nose and tried to focus on the office's scent of wood and leather. "D'you think the Tzimisce's why my clan's gone missing?"

"From my understanding the clan's full of elders. It wouldn't surprise me if the Sabbat have made their first move by sending one to blind the eyes of Los Angeles." Isaac gave her a pointed look. "I don't like dealing with your clan, but only an idiot would dismiss them. We need the Nosferatu. Without them we're in the dark." He took a pen from his desk and wrote something down on his notepad, tearing off the paper and handing it to Mary. "Here's the address I sent my agent to, and my number. Call me if you find anything."

Mary took the slip of paper with a shaking hand. Written in elegant script below a phone number was _10 King's Way._ Goosebumps rose on the back of her neck. A possible elder vampire of the Sabbat, a fleshcrafter, who'd taken out one of Isaac's agents already. Fear bubbled in her withered stomach. "This sounds like a job for a group of Kindred."

"A coterie." Isaac corrected. "I'd call LaCroix for aid, if you're so concerned."

There it was. The hint of bite to his tone, that sharp resentment she'd prepared herself for. Mary couldn't escape the Camarilla's chain. "What, Nines singing my praises wasn't enough?"

"It wouldn't be the first time his trust was misplaced." he replied, his cold tone colored again by a trace of pain. Isaac was trying to hold it together, Mary realized - and she knew the temptation to lash out all too well. He and Ash were alike. "From what he told me, I have faith that you can handle things yourself. If you need to flee you'll be better able to than most. You're Nosferatu. They don't even need to know you're there."

Mary wrapped her arms around herself, Nines' praise now far less welcome than it had been. She was going at things alone again, and had been dragged to that conclusion kicking and screaming. "... okay. What was Nines doing back here, anyways?"

"I'll ignore the fact that you're LaCroix's errand girl long enough to tell you he's doing other work here. This Tzimisce business has taken up most of my attention - he's doing us all a favor and scouting through the hills. A few kindred make their home there, and they enjoy their solitude. Enough so that if something happened to them…" Isaac trailed off, wincing. Mary remembered Ash mentioning a house in the Hollywood Hills.

There was a hint of irony in Nines doing scouting work while she was destined for a showdown with a member of the Sabbat. Maybe he'd come to her rescue again, just as he had in the lonely street what felt like months ago.

"Alright." Mary huffed. "I guess I should get going, then."

"I don't want this to be a suicide mission for you, even if it's LaCroix's intent." Isaac stopped her as she turned for the door. "There's no shame in running and surviving another night."

"I'm not really eager to get familiar with the Sheriff's sword." Mary replied, turning the knob. Isaac looked on her with sympathy, and she couldn't bear the sight. "Thanks."

Isaac watched her depart in silence.

Mary found shelter underneath the awning of a closed store down the street before she fished her phone out of her pocket. Her fingers left water droplets on the keys as she punched in a now familiar number. Nines had given her tips on how to fight - she dearly needed more if she was going up against what Isaac described.

The dial tone rang in her ear. Once, twice, three times. It droned on and on, never going to voice mail - she pulled the phone away from her face to make sure she'd typed in the correct number. She had.

Wherever Nines was, he wasn't able - or willing, the darker part of her mind proposed - to pick up.

Alone again. The sting was sharper after the glitter and warmth of the previous night. Mary had been reminded of what she was missing out on.

She flipped her phone shut and made for the sewers.

\--

Up and up she climbed, the slough of rainwater and waste rushing down the channel the opposite way she was heading. The sewer tunnels grew thinner and tighter the higher she walked, serving less and less buildings. Eventually they grew too small to navigate without having to wade through the filth, and so she poked her head out of a manhole on a lonely road.

The glow of street lamps was diffused in the misting rain, casting a gentle glow on the damp asphalt. As Mary rose to her feet she could see that the road curved along the edge of a hill. Houses dotted it, clinging to the edge and overlooking the city below. They were older mansions, built in the 80s - all white stucco and geometric design. The pinnacle of wealth in her youth.

Mary hurried off of the road and strayed as far from the sidewalk as she could, dodging the glow of street lamps. In the distance she could just barely make out the Hollywood sign, white letters like teeth in the mountainside.

A nosferatu in the Hollywood Hills. She wondered what celebrity homes she could break into if she wanted - she was invisible when she wanted to be, more powerful than any human, faster than any security guard. It gave her a small thrill, creeping along the roadside greenery. If she survived the night, she had another bullet on her bucket list.

10 King's Way looked austere and sterile, from the street. Yet another stucco mansion, a white box on the hillside. The driveway was smooth concrete, the gate plain black iron - she jumped it with ease. To her mild surprise, the porch light was on despite the late hour.

Was she expected?

A cat meowed somewhere in the distance. Mary glanced around the front porch, looking for clues. The windows were dark, blocked by something - she couldn't see inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood - the rosebushes were well tended to, the lawn neatly trimmed. She saw the headlights of a vehicle from further up the hill, and remembered just how terribly out of place she was. Lingering on the porch wouldn't do.

Mary reached out and knocked at the door. It swung open, making her jump - and she found herself suddenly launched forward into the mansion's foyer, as if the sidewalk had risen below her feet and tipped her inside. The door slammed shut behind her.

The first thing she comprehended were the flies. Hundreds of them, a constant low level buzz. Next was the scent of blood, enough to make her salivate - it permeated the air and sharpened her senses. As she stared longer at her surroundings, her brain caught up with what else her eyes were seeing.

At first she thought the wallpaper was peach colored, the light fixtures pale gold - but slowly she realized the walls were papered in human leather, still sweating. The chandelier was made of bones, hanging from sinew. It was doubly horrific, for instead of nausea all she could feel with the overwhelming smell of blood was _hunger_.

The mansion's unassuming exterior held a nightmare within. Mary tried her best to pull open the front door and flee, recalling Isaac's instruction, but the door would not budge. There was nothing for it - she had to see things to the end. 

Slowly she walked through the house, uncertain of what she was looking for. The owner? Prisoners? Clues? Mary didn't really want to look at any part of the house, finding with each new room new and horrible contortions of the human body awaited her. A chair with a face blinked at her, a couch pulsed and shifted, upholstered with skin threaded with veins. The worst of it was that it all made a sick sort of aesthetic sense - it was like looking at a 3D movie without the glasses, the art of it all obfuscated and painful to the eye yet present nevertheless.

Somehow she found the kitchen, the table made of elegantly arranged bones. In a bowl upon it were dozens of cards - as Mary approached it she realized they were drivers licences, ID cards, photographs. At the top of the pile was an ID pass for 'Abrams Productions' for a dark haired woman. The card beneath it was the drivers license of a Kent Alan Ryan. Something about the name sparked her memory, and Mary was thrown back to a heated discussion at Club Confession.

Patty's regnant. The man hadn't just died - he'd met a fate worse than death. Mary wondered with dread what part of the furniture he'd become - and felt truly sick at seeing the magnitude of other victims, if the pile was anything to go by.

Mary's paralysis was broken by the sound of music from below - distorted as if played by record, snatches of brass instrumentals twisting and warping much like the furniture. It echoed through the house, and she followed it - dreading what awaited her.

It drew her to a set of wooden stairs leading downward. She'd seen _Texas_ _Chainsaw_ _Massacre_ , she knew that there was absolutely nothing good for her within - and yet she placed one foot down on the next step. Part of her needed to see just what had done such monstrosities - the other part wanted to destroy it.

The music got louder but no more legible as Mary descended into the basement. Here the walls were multicolor, a quilt of different hides stitched together. Some couldn't have been human, but she could discern no more in the low light. When at last her foot stepped onto level ground, a lantern ignited in the middle of the room.

It granted enough illumination for her to gauge her surroundings - a basement workshop, filled with tools and racks for purposes she didn't know but could suspect. An old phonograph sat on the table next to the lantern, the source of the music. Mary had little time to study her environment, for her attention was immediately consumed by the sight of a familiar silhouette standing close to the lantern with his hand on the back of a great beast. 

Andrei. The leader of the Sabbat, who had sought an audience with her the second night she was Kindred. The leader of the same Sabbat who had beaten her within an inch of her life. Mary's vitae ran cold in her veins. 

"I can smell your fear, childe - it is more potent than the rot which follows you. Come. You asked permission to enter. I will not betray that trust." Andrei extended a clawed hand and gestured for her to approach.

"What…" Mary began, unable to find the words for the horror and disgust she was feeling. Any ability to speak was soon robbed from her as she approached Andrei cautiously and got a better look at his beast. At first she thought it was a hound, or a lion, but on closer inspection she realized it was a human body twisted into the shape of one. Hands and feet were extended to make digitigrade limbs, spine warped to allow for speed on all fours, jaw torn and stretched forward to create a sharp toothed snout. It was built for performance, claws and teeth deathly sharp - but the eyes were left the same. She recognized those eyes - one of the young anarchs who had filled The Last Round weeks ago.

“I forget you are young. You’ve not yet seen such glories.” Andrei spoke when he realized she wasn’t going to finish her sentence. “It is natural, childe.”

“This… this isn’t feeding. This is-”

“- art. The Becoming.” Andrei answered, as if instructing a student. “Human lives pass so swiftly, they are like insects. Who should tell me I should not use the carapace?” 

Mary found her voice. “You were one of them, once - you had to be, just like me. We had hopes and dreams and lives just like they do - how can you… they don’t even treat cattle like this.”

“What is leather? They eat of the flesh, wear the skin, make strappings from tendons. They are kine, Childe, meant for our use. We release our chains and embrace Caine’s gift, and wonders stretch before us.” Andrei’s mouth curled into a sneer. “The Anarchs you follow - we were as one, once. In the times before the Sabbat, we hunted elders together, feasted on antediluvians themselves. We brought the Old Ones to heel, but we were outnumbered by cowards. The Sabbat rose, order necessary to continue our work - but others, the _Anarchs_ , could not accept the truth. They bent to the Camarilla. They always do, crying and mewling, beasts without claws.” He looked back at the beast with amusement. “I have given this one her claws back.”

“She was Kindred.” she breathed. “How did she deserve…”

"This one was not so polite." Andrei explained. "One's home is a sacred thing. I am far from my true home, which makes this one all the dearer." The hand of his that rested between the beast's shoulders gave her a scratch, as if a pet. "Have you found yours?"

Mary wanted to scream at him, to ask him just what in the fuck was going on, to slash at him with all of her fury - but seeing what he had done to the anarch woman had her hold her tongue from fear. This wasn't a fight she could win. Isaac had told her it was better to flee than fight and die, but she could see no way out. Playing nice would have to do until she could think up a plan.

"No." she answered truthfully - her haven was a place to rest her head for the night, nothing more. The last place she'd thought of as home was her apartment, a lifetime ago, with its downy comforter and lavender sheets. It felt like it may as well have been another planet in such horrifying surroundings.

"A shame." Andrei smiled at her, his teeth looking as if hand-carved to be as elegantly dangerous as possible. "But you should not expect one, not from the Camarilla, not from the Anarchs. Both have sent you to me, have they not?" His smile grew sly. "They’ve sent you to die, childe - they wish to throw their puppet into the fire. I won't do as they wish - they tar us all as mindless savages. Savage may we be, but our minds are sharper than theirs. Have you considered my invitation?"

Mary had to admit Andrei was right, in a small way - LaCroix and Isaac both had sent her to what could be her doom, however much Isaac attempted to stress escape. She tried her best to think. Running wasn't an option. Neither was hiding. To play double agent and pretend to follow Andrei risked her being transformed into a beast herself - or part of the furniture. Whatever he'd told her in Santa Monica, Mary now had a fuller breadth of understanding of what Andrei was capable of. She tried to think of her clan stereotypes, what someone more experienced than her would do. Nosferatu thrived on the unseen, the unexpected - and in her spar with Nines, she'd used it to her advantage.

"I want to know more." Mary lied. "All I've heard are lies, everyone blaming each other for everything. I'm in a web of favors and I can barely remember what I'm actually supposed to be doing." The best lies always were closest to the truth - she'd learned that in her youth. She took a subtle step closer to Andrei. "You…” she struggled to try and find a genuine compliment. “... you're open about what you are. You don’t hide from it." 

The beast began to growl, but a single slight shift from Andrei had her whimper and fall back into silence.

"But your people attacked me." Mary continued. "The Camarilla made me blow up your warehouse, I didn't have a choice-"

"We all have a choice." Andrei interrupted. "To say otherwise is to play into the ancients' game. Yes, I have not forgotten what you have done." His eyes narrowed. "But I can forgive, if you prove yourself."

Mary tried not to eye the lantern too obviously. Just one more step and she could knock it aside, grant herself a moment to pull the darkness around her and slip behind Andrei. Then, if blessed by a miracle, she could snap his neck before he could catch sight of her.

"Tell me what I have to do." she said, taking another step closer.

Andrei's eyes lit up with joy, causing a weight to plummet in her stomach. "I told this one if it kills you I'll let it walk on two feet again." He lifted his hand from the beast, and a puddle of blood formed at his feet. "If you survive, I will find you again. You may play martyr, childe, but I know what you are. Who you are. Lie all you wish - you will see the truth of my words, and beg for my mercy.”

Somehow he sank into the pool of blood, and Mary had only a moment to comprehend that somehow he knew she was lying before the beast lunged at her. 

She tried to pin Mary to the blood soaked ground, but when the beast's paw set down on her spiked shoulder it was punctured. Jack and Damsel's nickname for her grew additional meaning as the beast recoiled, howling in pain with the voice of an animal and a woman intertwined. Mary scrambled to her feet.

"Wait, I know you -" she started, holding out her hands, but the beast turned quickly and lunged at her once more. Mary dodged, smaller than the creature and only barely faster, trying to use the spikes at her shoulder to grant her some space. "- there has to be a way to fix this -"

The creature got hold of Mary's arm, teeth puncturing her skin. With another growl the beast shook her head from side to side, shredding at Mary's bicep. Survival instinct took over, and Mary curled forward to sink her teeth into the side of the beast's face. She was released, but Mary could afford no further mercy, for she was snapped at again. Channelling vitae to heal her wounded arm, she used the claws of the other to slice at her opponent.

It was a savage struggle, until Mary recalled what Nines had taught her about igniting the potency in her veins. A heartbeat, a flare of power, and she shattered the beast's ribcage. With a kick to the foreleg, she crippled the creature properly, and her opponent laid wheezing on the ground in agony. She did not move.

Shaking, Mary looked around the workshop. There was no sign of Andrei. She was trembling so terribly she nearly dropped her phone when she took it out of her pocket and dialled Isaac's number.

He answered surprisingly quickly. "Fledgling. Is the Tzimisce dealt with?"

"He got away.” she breathed. “Your… your agent." Mary didn't know how to describe the poor woman's situation, so instead she held the receiver closer to her opponent and her gurgled growling for a few moments. There was silence on the other end. "Can we- is there a way to-"

"No." Isaac said, the word like a dropped stone. "She's done well in her service, she deserves mercy. Make it quick."

Mary squeezed her eyes shut. "Don't ask me to do that." she murmured, scenes of Casimir's execution playing out on the back of her eyelids. “Please.”

There was a long pause on the other end before Isaac spoke again. “I’m sorry. When it’s done, see if you can find any documents. A journal, letters -”

“No.” she replied brokenly. “I can’t stay here another minute. Send someone else.”

“You need to find your clan, or LaCroix will find someone who can. That doesn’t bode well for you.” Isaac explained patiently. “Investigation benefits us both.”

“Fuck benefits!” Mary shouted into the phone. “You don’t know what it’s like here, you don’t -”

The call ended, and she was left trembling violently with her phone gripped tightly in her hands. She looked down at the beast, slowly bleeding out on the concrete. A frightful sight, but so was Mary, wasn’t she?

“If… if you can hear me.” she knelt down beside the former anarch. “Do you want me to…”

With a low wheeze, the creature tilted her head away from Mary, exposing her neck. It was as close to permission as Mary was ever to get, and even so she wasn’t entirely certain. Mary raised her arm, claws catching the lantern light, and brought them down as the Sheriff had brought down his blade.

The vitae did not spurt out from the beast’s neck as she thought, but flowed out in great waves. There was a single twitch, and then the beast disintegrated into ash, mixing with the vitae on the ground. Joining the rest of the blood soaked floor.

Mary’s knees nearly buckled when she stood - she wished she could tear what she’d seen from her eyes. But Isaac was right - she couldn’t turn back, she had a mission that if failed would result in her death. There was a sea of workstations to peer through, horrible diagrams written in blood, and the thought of turning to them made her feel faint. She caught sight of a set of double doors set into the far wall, and practically sprinted toward them. Whatever horrors lay beyond, they weren’t the room she’d played executioner in.

Preparing herself for a horror show, the sight of a simple tunnel nearly frightened her just due to her heightened nerves. The tunnel was carved into the earth, leading downward - _to hell_ , a voice in the back of her mind proposed - and she could smell humidity in the air rising from it. Covered in blood and ash, the prospect of water was too tempting to ignore.

Isaac and LaCroix said her clan lived beneath the city. Perhaps that was where the tunnel led. Perhaps Andrei had already wiped them out. 

Whatever was ahead couldn’t be worse than the mansion of flesh.

Could it?

\--

It was.

A maze of a sewer system, tunnels growing older the deeper she delved - sections bricked up by the city, host to logs from sanitation workers describing disappearances and odd sounds and curses. The labyrinth was infested by more creatures she couldn’t describe, monstrosities of flesh large and small that hurt her to look at. The sounds they made were frightful, and she saw one of them lurking over a nest of rotting corpses. Their eyes were not human, were not like the beast’s - but they also did not see so well. Mary was thankful she didn’t have to breathe, creeping along in the dark in silence and trying desperately not to be noticed by the lurching horrors. With every step into the depths, she felt both more fearful and safer, some primal instinct activated by being so far underground.

Time began to blur, marked only by her thirst. Rats were aplenty in the underground, sustaining her as she wandered lost. Two days had to have passed, at least - she remembered exhaustion pulling her into oblivion, but she wasn’t certain if it was sunrise or her own fatigue. The air was stale, the flow of water impossible to ascertain, but eventually Mary found her way to a part of the sewers that had to be close to an exit. It was only her ages of wandering in the stagnant air that let her realize it - the subtle change, currents of clean air flowing in. 

The presence of the creatures, too, faded. By the time she found herself in a section of the sewer that seemed recently modified, she hadn’t seen the monsters in hours. There grew to be markers of some sort of intelligent presence - litter on the ground, empty CD cases, old bicycles, picture frames. She had to be getting closer.

It kept her nerves from fraying any further, though as she rounded a corner Mary was reminded that unlife was full of terrible surprises.

She was greeted by the sight of a familiar chamber. A chest freezer, pushed up against the wall. A single chair. A gilded and tarnished mirror, leaned up against the opposite wall. The cement beneath it was stained black from blood.

The site of her transformation. The last place Mary had been human.

Mary stared at her reflection in the mirror, trembling violently once more as memories flooded through her mind. The agony, the terror - her body had twisted and changed before her eyes, monstrous as anything the Tzimisce could conjure. Now she looked at that same visage, clothed in protective leather, coated in blood and grime, pretending at humanity. Hate surged through her.

She ran from the room as quickly as she could, blindly sprinting down tunnels. For the first time in what felt like weeks, she saw light in the distance. If she could have flown toward it, she would have.

The light was coming from a wide and circular chamber, the tunnel she entered from the only visible exit. It was ringed by metal scaffolding surrounding a giant metal hatch in the center. At the far side of the room was a set of computer monitors - all showing separate camera feeds of the tunnels beyond. It was surreal, to see such a clear marker of modern civilization, and when she realized a laptop sat nearby her heart leapt with joy.

Computers were something she knew. Something that was safe.

As she flipped open the laptop, she was able to gauge a sense of time at last. Mary had spent three days in the dark, and arrived at the chamber in the early evening. It became clear after some searching of the laptop that it was what controlled the hatch. It also became clear that the program that did so had far too much security for her to crack without her own laptop - she’d forgotten it in Santa Monica, and the prospect of going back through the tunnels to fetch it nearly drove her to tears. Her claws scratched at the keyboard as she sifted through files - she noted the keyboard was already covered in similar scratches with some curiosity. After an hour of struggling, a new window popped up on screen. A text box.

 _Good try._ It read, though more text soon followed. _But you’re not getting in without permission. Boss says I’m allowed to open the door for you. Follow the tunnel left. Try to explore, and you won’t have eyes to snoop with anymore._

“What?” Mary said aloud, before reaching out to tap at the webcam.

 _Stop that._ The text box read. _Unless you’ve got a couple grand to spot us._

The casual tone of the text gave her whiplash after the nightmare of the tunnels behind her. Mary startled as the giant hatch in the middle of the room began to open. She leaned over the scaffolding to peer at what awaited her. There was nothing but a dark void below - though she could hear rippling water.

Maybe forgetting her laptop was a good thing.

After days of dealing with monsters out of her worst nightmare, taking a dive was child’s play. She hopped over the railing without another thought.

If she had any breath in her lungs, the impact with the water below would have knocked it out of her. All sound was cut off as she plunged into an underground lake - she could see the bright lights above fading as the hatch drew closed - but there were more twinkling lights distorted through the water’s surface. Mary swam in their direction, and surfaced near a makeshift dock. 

The swim made her feel better - when she hauled herself onto shore she found the blood and grime had been washed off of her body. She stood, dripping wet, and realized with disappointment that her phone was still in her pocket.

_Sorry, Mercurio._

Mary tried to shake herself dry and peered around at her surroundings. She was in a giant cave, tunnels leading out of it every which way on multiple levels, rope bridges spanning between them threaded with christmas lights. Cables snaked everywhere, providing power to neon signs and hanging fluorescent bars. On the level of the cave she stood on, there was only one tunnel. Remembering the instructions from the laptop, Mary turned to the left.

The warrens were empty of people, though she could hear echoing voices. Giggles, songs, snatches of gossip involving names she did not know. Despite there being no one she could see, it offered a sense of community. Furthermore, the tunnels were decorated in a way that teemed with personality. Stolen signs (one from the Luckee Star) peppered the walls alongside posters from various decades. Mary recognized promotional flyers for old bands and films stuck to the tunnel walls as she passed. In some parts rugs were laid over the ground, softening her footsteps. Alcoves were host to couches, statues, plants that no longer required light - some even had doors with numbers beside them, leading to rooms forbidden to her.

It was oddly cozy and terribly fascinating - despite instruction Mary wanted to investigate, to find what other curios the warrens held. The closest feeling she’d ever had to it was when she’d dipped into an antique store after she’d bought her first apartment, looking for unique items with a history behind them to decorate her home. Mary supposed the people she now knew were the items of history now.

Mary’s mind was becoming a practiced hand at dealing with traumatic sights - the horrors of the days before were packed away and shoved into a dark corner of her mind, ideally to be forgotten. If the time to unpack them ever came, it’d be when she didn’t have her own survival to worry about.

Following the tunnel in a straight line led her uphill - if she was still human her legs would be screaming for mercy. Eventually she came to the path’s end - a set of doors carved with a geometric pattern and painted in green and red. Music was coming from within - swing music.

Again she returned to the memory of that blissful moment on the dance floor. The thought of Nines stung her, the memory of their dance together so bright it made her current situation seem all the darker. Mary pushed it from her mind and approached the double doors. She knocked.

As with King’s Way, the doors swung open. Thankfully, the room beyond wasn’t wallpapered with human skin.

Instead it was a small cave even cozier than the rest - Mary slowly walked around its perimeter, finding no inhabitants. A mahogany table sat at its center, chairs occupied by skeletons in wigs and formalwear. Grim, but she’d seen magnitudes worse. Bookcases lined the far wall, and nearby was a desk very similar to Isaac’s. A phonograph sat upon it, the source of the swing music - and next to it was a computer almost comically advanced in comparison. Stained black and white pictures hung on the wall, along with a familiar movie poster. It was for an old film she and Knox caught on TV after the ordeal that was the Ocean House Hotel - an ordeal that was almost quaint in comparison to the new nightmares she’d been introduced to that week.

“It’s rude to snoop.” A voice rasped from behind her, and Mary nearly leapt out of her skin. 

She was greeted by the sight of a fellow Nosferatu - he was taller than her (as were most Kindred), but not nearly so tall as Casimir was. His face was long, though his skin was fairly intact, simply mottled and grey. While he was as bald and sharp-eared as she was, and had a similarly awful dental situation, as far as her clan went he was easy on the eyes.

He grinned at her silence, cocking his head. “Cat got your tongue, boss? Or am I the first Nosferatu you’ve seen since your poor sire? Oh, but he was quite the fright, wasn’t he.” The man leaned forward, and Mary noted that he smelled like cologne gone sour. “I must be downright handsome in comparison, hm?”

“Who are you?”

“Boring question.” The man withdrew from her, gesturing theatrically at the poster on the wall. “Gary Golden, Hollywood’s best leading man for, oh… twenty three months. I was an actor for three decades - and for what? You’d think I was Ingrid Bergman, I disappeared so fast.” He turned his attention back to her. “Speaking of disappearances - if you were going to put us out of a security system, the least you could do is make sure the Tzimisce bastard didn’t escape.”

 _Gary, you treasonous rat._ Before Mary stood the man LaCroix had cursed - the leader of her clan in Los Angeles. Keeper of the information that was key to her freedom from the Prince’s machinations. “You… you tapped my phone?”

“We tapped Isaac’s. Old dustbox can’t quite keep up with modern times and modern solutions the way he used to, I’m afraid. He hasn’t talked your ear off about how film is so superior to digital, has he? It’s a terrible bit of projecting, boss.”

Mary made a mental note to tell Nines about it the next time she saw him. "No, he hasn’t. Look, I’m here about-”

“You come home to the family and start talking business so soon? Not much of a prodigal son, are you?”

Mary didn’t have the energy to play into the exchange. “Maybe not.” she muttered. “If I don’t get this done, it’s my head next on the chopping block.”

“I thought you’d be more interesting.” Gary tut-tutted, shaking his head and circling the dining table in the center of the room. “Yes, I know. You’re the Prince’s new errand girl, and little lord Fauntlacroix is _very_ upset with me.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Mary replied, finding herself smiling a little at Gary’s nickname for LaCroix. 

“How bad was it, boss?” he inquired, pale green eyes glimmering with mischief. “Did he throw a tantrum? Break anything? Did he scratch up that pretty face of yours? Blacken one of those doe eyes?”

She hadn’t expected to have her appearance mocked by one of her own people, and bristled. “I think he might have been tempted to, but he didn’t. He just shouted. Maybe he might have done worse if Beckett wasn’t there, but -”

“Yes, that old dream boat’s in town, isn’t he?” Gary chuckled, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs occupied by a skeleton. “Let’s make this short, boss. I know why you’re here - LaCroix wants to know where his fancy box is. I’d be happy to tell you, but you should know by now that information doesn’t come for free.”

Mary’s shoulders slumped. “Of course.”

“Oh, don’t look so _sad_.” he scolded. “That’s how things roll in this life, you’d better get used to it. I know where the sarcophagus is, but I’m missing an agent. His name is Barabus - like the Bible.” The way he looked at her suggested he knew the significance of it, and it set her on edge. “I’d like him back. You’re good at playing fetch, aren’t you, boss?”

The swing music playing was far too cheery for her dashed expectations. Mary supposed she should be used to it by now. “The last missing agent I found, the Tzimisce got to. If I’m going to have to put someone else out of their misery, I’d like to know ahead of time.”

Gary _laughed_ , and Mary found herself growing increasingly uneasy in his presence. “We’re Nosferatu, boss - we’re stuck with our ugly. There isn’t a power on this earth that can change that. All you can do is hide it.” He winked. “No, boss, nothing that bad. I just want you to take a little trip to Chinatown.”

There was always a catch, and Mary was growing wise enough to ask. “If it was a quick trip it’d be done before I got here. What’s in Chinatown?”

There was a glint of pride in his clouded eyes. “You’ll like this one, since Rodriguez is following you around like a lost puppy. The _kuei-jin_ are in Chinatown. Bad place to be Kindred.” Gary revelled in every word.

Mary blinked at him, processing what he’d said. “... Nines is following me?”

Gary’s grin was a wicked one. “ _And everywhere that Mary went, her lamb was sure to go._ ” He sang. “I’m not here to gossip, boss - get Barabus back and I might tell you more. Strange question to ask, though - you should be asking me about the kuei-jin.” He tapped his claws together. “There’s a truce on, a big fat stalemate - don’t jump the gun, or you might start a war. Even the Anarchs won’t pat you on the back for that one.”

Mary opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Gary held up his hand.

“Ah-ah-ah. Not until you’ve scratched my back - then you can come running back here and we’ll share a cup of tea. Head to Chinatown - Bertram’s told me he’s given you a map, so you don’t need directions. You’ll want to visit the temple first - the theme park version of the real thing, but the devils are happy enough to pretend.” He turned his back to her and shuffled around in a corner full of clutter, eventually pulling out a floor length mirror. Gary leaned it against a nearby wall and turned back to her. “Now, old Gary’s going to do you a favor so you don’t get yourself killed ten minutes after you crawl out of the sewer.” Seeing her worried expression, his grin only widened. “It’ll make mirrors less scary. From what I’ve heard, your sire didn’t teach you about the Mask of a Thousand Faces.”

Mary shook her head. Gary stood in front of the mirror and gestured for her to come closer - the moment she was within arm’s reach he grabbed her by the bicep and tugged her over to his side.

“Don’t be shy.” he purred. “It’s good to look at yourself in the mirror. It builds character. From what my little birds have told me, you’re _very_ happy to go unseen. Obfuscate isn’t magic, though - it doesn’t actually make you invisible. None of it’s real. No, it’s all…” Gary released his grip on her arm to give her temple a tap. “... up here.”

Understanding dawned on her, and the new knowledge made her tolerate Gary’s intrusion on her personal space. “At the museum - they could see me on the camera, but not in the hall.”

Gary nodded. “It’s a trick. If you can trick yourself, it’s easy enough to trick others - but it’s bad for the brain, boss. Bad for the soul, too. Close your eyes. I won’t play a trick, I promise. Scout’s honor.”

Mary looked at him skeptically, but did as he said nevertheless. She felt no movement, no breeze of air - but something caused goosebumps to ripple across her skin.

Gary’s voice sounded clearer when he next spoke. “Open them.”

In the mirror no longer did she see the reflection of two monsters - instead, next to her stood the man she’d seen in the black and white movie, handsome and in a tailored three-piece suit in a style that wasn’t made anymore. Gary had a full head of hair, elegantly combed back, and the flush of life to his cheeks. Mary gaped at the sight, and it made him laugh.

“Gorgeous Gary Golden, they used to call me. If you can trick yourself well enough, you can become anything - even who you were before. It’s all based on memory, though - I have it easy, I have the pictures to look at for the parts I forget. You, on the other hand…” He patted her bare shoulder sympathetically. “Well, let’s see.”

“I don’t know where to start.” Mary said, her voice quivering with excitement. She didn’t have to look the way she did anymore. She could pretend.

“You don’t have a picture of yourself from before, do you? Or even better, home movies?” Gary waggled his eyebrow suggestively, and Mary recoiled from him. It only made him lean closer to speak lowly into her ear. “You’ll have to work from memory, then. Remember what your reflection used to look like - or imagine how you’d like to look. As detailed as you can be - then you reach out, like you do to pull your little cloak around you. This cloak’s more than shadows. Don’t think about it too hard - you’re tricking yourself, remember. You’ve got to let go of all that hate, forget how disgusting you are. Delusion doesn’t work when you know it’s all an illusion. It’ll cost blood, but you’re used to that by now. You’re a blank canvas. Paint on it.”

Mary stared at her reflection, trying to cast away all of the disdain she felt for who she was. She tried to remember the night of her transformation, how her human body once looked before everything fell apart. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember where her fat once lay, how her cheeks once filled out. She closed her eyes, reached out her hands, and pulled reality around her like a fur coat. Vitae rushed through her withered veins.

When she opened them, the sight of two humans in the mirror greeted her. She was still wearing her jacket with the torn off sleeve, but there were no spikes to accompany now. Mary stared with wide eyes at her now smooth skin, her arms soft with a layer of fat over her sinew. No longer did her clothes hang baggily on her, now her figure filled them out. Most welcome was her hair - dark and bobbed, framing her face as it once did. Her face was the hardest part - she didn’t know if it was exactly _hers_ , but it was human. Perhaps that was good enough.

“First try. I’m not surprised - your sire had tar in his veins. Lucky fledgling.” Gary winked.

“How long does it last?”

“As long as you have the blood for it, but I wouldn’t get used to it.” In a cloud of smoke, his appearance melted away, returning Gary to his usual monstrous self. “Bad for the soul, you see. All the other Kindred, the Ventrue, the _Toreador_ -” he sneered. “- they’re able to pretend they’re better than they are. We’re all bloodsuckers, Mary. We get to skip pretending and get some actual work done.” He winked at her. “You should have an easier time getting around Chinatown now.”

Mary winced. “Please tell me I don’t have to go back to get outside again.”

“Only first timers. Call it a hazing ritual.” Gary sauntered over to one of his bookcases and tugged at a particularly thick tome - with a _click_ it swung open to reveal a hidden passage. It was something out of an old horror movie - Mary supposed that was the entire point, given how genuinely pleased the primogen seemed with it. “I’ll let you use the back door. Don’t come back until you’ve found Barabus. You won’t find me until you have.” With an over-the-top bow, he gestured at the tunnel out. “Your carriage awaits, Cinderella. Best get moving before midnight.”

Cool air blew in from the exit tunnel, and Mary found herself fearful of the surface world. Still, she stepped past Gary and steeled her nerves.

At least she knew people who’d dealt with the kuei-jin before.

It was time to make another detour to The Last Round.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big chapter after a big (for this fic) pause, thank you all for your patience! Grout's Mansion (and all the fallout of it) is coming up, don't you worry - there's just a little timeline shifting going on. ;)


	17. Chinatown I

Mary wasn't quite sure what to think at first, crawling out of the warren exit into the massive graveyard across the street from Isaac's office. The blood in her veins was burning off little by little as she maintained her illusory form, and she didn't feel much different. Stopping in at Isaac's to talk to him in person was out of the question - he was Toreador and could likely see through her disguise, rendering the whole adventure a waste of blood. 

That, and she was certain after her outburst on the phone her reception would be a chilly one.

When she kept walking down the street and watched a cab pull up at the curb next to her, however, Mary truly could appreciate her new disguise. She'd slid into the back seat, drew a few bills out of her wallet, and told the cabbie to take her downtown. It was an action so human it almost made her cry - it was something so banal and normal that she missed the sun.

Streetlights rather than sewer exits passed her by, and she could recline and enjoy the sights for once. Mary rested her cheek on the cool window, the reflection of the cabbie showing up in it with every passing light. He wore shades despite the late hour, and seemed still as a statue. She was thankful that he made no conversation, for she was lost in her own emotions.

Gary, she realized, had given her a gift more precious than LaCroix's sarcophagus. Now she could pretend to be normal - at least around humans. Mary wondered why they ever let their true appearances show when pretending was so easy - worth however much blood it took. Yet she was also aware that with comfort came fear. With her new disguise the thought of people seeing what lay beneath terrified her. An echo of a memory returned to her - Casimir looking forlornly over her.

_Remember what you are._

The thought rang in her head like a gong, Gary's own musings on embracing the curse joining in the melody. Those who had been in her shoes for much longer discouraged hiding herself away - but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why.

The cabbie pulled up in front of The Last Round and surprise jolted her from her thoughts. Mary hadn't given the man a specific address, but somehow he knew. Cautiously she exited the cab after stuffing a quick tip into the cash box.

"Thanks." she offered, curious as to if the man had any connection to the Anarchs.

"Good evening." The cab driver answered, pulling away from the curb. There were no answers for her. She watched as he drove off, his left arm resting against the open car window, and noted the world around her felt oddly empty in his absence. Strange.

The extra few moments of their exchange made Mary pause long enough to think about her situation. She'd been through the bar doors as a human once before - she'd _worked_ there for a brief moment in time, hopelessly ignorant to how she was perhaps the only human present. Though she hadn't spent a month there, she deduced that it was possible she'd be recognized. Nines was the only one who knew the truth, and judging by how no one else brought up how Mary had brushed up against their world before her Embrace he didn't have intentions of expanding the circle beyond the two of them. Mary had to agree. If LaCroix ever found out...

With a slight pang of regret, she dropped the illusion and tried not to scratch at her skin. Exposure itched, and nervous fear was starting to bubble in her gut. Mary pulled open the door to the bar before she could dwell on the feeling for too long.

"Bloody Mary!" Damsel exclaimed the second Mary shut the door behind her. "I thought you might've got ashed. Where the hell were you? Nines tried calling you two nights in a row and got nothing."

"Somewhere without cell service." Remembering her dip in the warren lake, Mary winced and took her phone out of her pocket. "My phone took a bath with me after that." Belatedly, she understood the rest of what Damsel had said. Nines had tried calling her. Mary hoped her emotions weren't showing on her face.

"Shit." Damsel murmured sympathetically. She was sitting in one of the booths sideways, her back to the wall and her legs crossed with a laptop balanced across them. "What went down?"

"Too much. And not enough." Mary answered, sliding into the booth across from where Damsel sat. Enough time had passed that she felt it wasn't desperate to ask. "What did Nines want?"

"Might've wanted to ask about Isaac's kid." Damsel shrugged. "He didn't tell me. I heard about Rivers. Well. Some of it. Go ahead and start from the beginning." Damsel shut her laptop and leaned against the table, eyes burning with curiosity. "I wanna know how a nosferatu got such a pretty boy to run away with her."

Mary summarized the last few nights, omitting the fact that she'd stumbled across the site of her Embrace and that Gary had taught her the power of disguise. Damsel's expression shifted from playfully curious to an incensed horror when told of the fate of the gangrel woman at King's Way. She fired off a series of texts before letting Mary continue.

"Motherfucker." Damsel swore upon hearing of Mary's next destination. "I thought you nossies were supposed to be nice to each other. Gary wants you dead if he's sending you to Chinatown."

"He gave me something helpful. I'll be able to stay hidden. It's really good, I can't be too mad at him."

"Yeah? Well it better be something really good, to make it worth the trip. Eugh. But it might be worth it just to smash a few of those demons." Damsel punched her fist into her palm for emphasis. "I say fuck the truce."

Paranoia told Mary not to go into detail when it came to the specifics of Gary's gift. "I don't want to break the truce." From what little she understood of the situation, LA was a powder keg and she didn't want to light the fuse. "But it's good to be prepared in case I get caught."

"You wanna know how to fight Kuei-Jin?" Damsel's eyes narrowed, and she leaned a little closer. "You fight like hell, and feel like they still won even when you finally manage to rip their spine out." Damsel shook her head. "I got nothing. Hit hard, and hit them fast. Probably best to sneak up on them, if you're good at it. Ugh. I'm not really the best person to ask, I'm a bad teacher. Apparently. The whole mentor thing is Nines' gig. He's also probably got the most experience fighting them, but he's out. So's everyone, actually." Damsel scowled. "I'm stuck in here because I'm the only one who isn't scared of a fucking computer."

Mary tried not to giggle, aware of Damsel's predicament and still shaken from recent events, but it was perhaps this very same exhaustion that had her stifled laughter spilling over at the image of the rest of The Last Round's usual residents looking suspiciously at a laptop screen. Mary was going up against bad odds, and she felt that if she wasn't laughing she'd be crying from the stress of it all.

Damsel's scowl faltered at the fit of giggles, replaced for but a moment by a begrudging and sympathetic smile. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. I'm not the one going to Chinatown."

"Sorry." Mary apologized after gaining her composure. She peered over at Damsel's laptop, eager for a change in subject. The less she had to dwell on what awaited her the better. "What are you doing, anyways? I'm not afraid of computers like the rest of them."

"Didn't think so, since you're practically a newborn." Damsel huffed. "Sexiest Man Alive 2004 got enough hunters in Hollywood that it's got Nines thinks they're coming in from Europe. I'm trying to see if I can find out who." She patted her laptop lid.

"Huh." Mary hummed, not thinking of Damsel as the researching type. "... don't be too mad at Ash. He's just -"

"- crying for help the only way he can. I know." Damsel finished her sentence as if it was a sentiment she heard often. "You lost me a hundred bucks. I bet Skelter the kid wouldn't want to leave his life of luxury, and then I find out he agreed to run off with a nosferatu."

"Weird thing to bet on." Mary frowned.

"It makes finding out bad shit a bit better if you get some cash out of it, at least. I've been doing this long enough to know this life's all about finding out bad shit." Damsel rubbed at her arm. "It's not as good as being able to kill someone, but I can't do that with the fucking 'prince' in town."

Mary was no longer able to help herself. Damsel spoke as if decades separated them, but she didn't seem to have any old fashioned sensibilities. "How long _have_ you been doing this? You called Ash a kid earlier."

"He is. So are you. You want the whole life story, or the cliff's notes?" Despite her annoyed tone, Damsel looked as if she hoped Mary would pick the life story.

It was too intriguing for Mary to resist. She'd pegged Damsel as close to her age, the woman seemed an impossibility to exist in any other time. "I've got time."

It wasn't the answer Damsel suspected, and it was as if all hardness from her posture softened. "Oh." she was unable to shield her surprise. "Well, uh. I was born here. I saw the anti-war protests when I was a kid and wanted to be part of it - it seemed like good versus evil, you know? Then as I got older I saw the reasons why I needed to be a part of it once the draft rolled out. I was halfway through college and I couldn't just stand by anymore. Found myself a group, started helping out, and didn't realize the guy leading the group was Brujah."

A born and bred activist, so it seemed. Damsel had spoken in tones verging on _shy_ when it came to her past - or at least what passed for shy with Damsel. Despite a background that seemed archetypal Brujah, Damsel was cagey about the details.

"What were you in college for?" Mary asked. "I never got to go myself."

Damsel looked sheepish. "Law school." she said quietly, embarrassed to say it. "It's overrated. I was a dumb kid and thought that I could work within the system to change things. Now I know the only way it's gonna change is if the system burns down."

Law school. Mary blinked at her - law school cost money. A lot of money. Whatever Damsel's origins, they were a lot more comfortable than Nines'. It didn't stop her from fighting as fiercely as the rest of them, and Mary found herself admiring Damsel for it.

"You still haven't said how long you've been doing this."

"Embraced in '79." Damsel's gaze drifted to some point on the wall behind Mary, momentarily lost in thought. Wistful. "Good times, back when people smiled around here. We'll get there again."

Mary did the math in her head - Damsel wasn't much older than she was. Fifteen years wasn't bad - she could have been an older sister, or a fun aunt. Mary could probably chat about films and music with her. Something about the cautious way Damsel held herself kept Mary from delving further, however. It was likely the past was a sensitive subject.

As it was for all Kindred, it seemed.

"Anyways." As expected, Damsel changed the topic. If the way her brow furrowed was any indicator it was a topic that spurred a more comfortable emotion - anger. "I know you asked me for advice on how to fight Kuei-Jin, and I told you, but I should tell you what everyone else would want me to tell you. Don't. If you're caught ripping into them it'll start a war. Kindred can't do shit in Chinatown with the truce. So you better play nice when people are watching."

"And when they aren't?"

Damsel grinned wickedly. "It's not illegal if you don't get caught. Good thing you're nosferatu, huh?" She opened her laptop back up. "You should get going if you want to get there before it's too late. Word of advice - don't spend the day in their territory. Bad things happen to Kindred who do."

"I'll remember that." Another day curled up in the sewer awaited her. After the horrors she'd seen back in the warren sewers, the prospect made her nervous. The memory was still sharp. Mary tried to bat it away, and withdrew from the booth. "Thanks, Damsel. Tell Nines I'm sorry about the phone thing. And uh. Alive."

"Did it the second you came in." Damsel waved her flip phone at Mary. "The alive thing, not the phone thing. I'll let him know, briar patch."

"I'll crack some heads for you." Mary teased as she opened the front door. Damsel scowled in a way that could be described as affectionate - a paradox only Damsel could express.

\---

Mary hunted down a lonely sanitation worker and fed before calling herself a cab. Pulling back on a human guise was like breathing after too long underwater, utter relief filling her body. Mentally she justified it as a faster trip, she had the money for it. In truth, she wanted to see Chinatown for the first time from the street.

It was perilously close to downtown - enough so that she wondered how bad things in Los Angeles got before the truce. Mary watched the cars streak by around her and missed riding on Nines' bike - her cab driver seemed quite intent on following the posted speed limit. She withdrew her drowned phone from her pocket and stared at it resentfully. It seemed she was thinking of him more than ever in recent nights, and while his advice would be more than welcome it wasn't matters related to her orders that had her wishing she could call.

The thought frightened her, a sense of doom blooming in her chest. The last time she felt such an attachment it ended with her fleeing an apartment in the night, the end of a year-long nightmare.

Yet, a soft voice in her mind proposed, it had ended with her meeting Nines, hadn't it?

Mary did her best to focus on the landscape flashing by the cab window in an attempt to drown it out, and felt a wave of relief at the sight of neon lights in the distance.

A great red gate lined in red neon, 'Chinatown' at its crest with characters Mary couldn't read below. The buildings beyond were colorful, some windows twinkling yellow and others blackened. Traffic was thin, and she saw few pedestrians as the cab drew to a stop. Mary recalled Gary's instructions as she paid the cabbie. _Golden Temple, Ming-Xiao, find Barabas_. Another favor in the mess of favors she was caught in, a web of errands that made her dizzy to think of. All in an attempt to pay for the debt that was her continued existence. 

She wasn’t alone in owing a debt for her continued existence, remembering the thin-bloods of Santa Monica. At least she held power - at least she had some understanding of her lot in life. E and his friends had only confusion. As Mary stepped out of the cab, she recalled that Barabas wasn’t the only Kindred she was looking for in Chinatown. The kuei-jin had taken a vampire from the blood bank according to the phone of the one she’d killed in Santa Monica - the blood bank Lily was last seen entering. Mary hoped she’d find the girl alive - for E’s sake, if nothing else.

Mary repeated her three tasks in her mind, a soothing mantra as she walked down the bare streets. Neon and lantern light was reflected in the rain soaked pavement, and she wondered how many sights like this she’d missed thanks to weeks spent underground. Her human skin even responded with goosebumps after a cool breeze wove beneath the awnings over the sidewalk. Windchimes echoed somewhere beyond, and contrary to frightened she found herself strangely comforted by the place. Perhaps that was part of the danger.

Through the mist she could see the outline of a larger building at the end of the street. As she drew closer the mist thinned to reveal a building much older than the rest - or built to look much older. It was seated behind a low stone wall with a circular door painted in gold.

It looked like a temple to her - and failing that, it looked beautiful enough that she wanted to explore it. Cautiously she approached the gate, and found it was unlocked. It creaked and groaned when pushed open, wood under gold leaf. Beyond was a mist-laden garden - a pond ran through its center crossed by a curved red bridge. Blue stone lanterns dotted the garden, casting faint light. Mary took her time as she walked down the path to the building's front doors, glancing into the overgrown grass and wondering what stared back.

The damp dark wood steps of the building groaned as she ascended them, announcing her arrival to anyone with working ears. Sure enough, the twin wooden doors to the building swung open, spilling yellow light into the dark garden. Mary was greeted by what looked like a long entrance hall, lined with candles and flowers. A woman stood at the end of the hall, a large metal gong behind her.

"Enter, Kindred." The woman said simply, and Mary stepped over the threshold. 

Instantly her stomach flipped, the illusion she kept around herself slipping away from her. Mary scrambled to try and pull the shadows back around her, but it was like trying to hold onto smoke.

The woman at the end of the hall inclined her head, but otherwise showed no sign of distress or disgust. It tempered the panic rising in Mary's throat.

"Hello, kindred. I am Ming-Xiao. I thank you for thinking to announce yourself, but the illusion could be read as an insult." Ming-Xiao's gaze was sharp and intelligent, and Mary feared what she could read. Ming-Xiao crossed the hall and started to circle around Mary. "You are the first to try. Curious. Do you seek to spare my sensibilities?"

The leader of LA's Kuei-Jin was thin and tall, red cheek stain sharp as blood against pale skin. Her nails were painted dark as obsidian and were likely just as sharp. A decorative glass pin stuck in her hair swayed gently with her every movement. Her voice was like a whisper given strength - soft but commanding. It reminded Mary of Nines, and the thought made her nauseous. Ming-Xiao was responsible for the death of many of his people. For the wistful and haunted looks seen in the eyes of the few anarchs that survived. 

“No.” Mary answered truthfully, but didn’t dare say more. Her feelings were her own. 

“Good.” Ming-Xiao said neatly, pausing in front of Mary. “My concerns lie with the spirit, not the shell. It isn’t your appearance that disgusts me.” Yet something did, by her choice of words - and the subtle way she implied it was enough to take Mary by surprise. The wound stung, unexpected. “Why have you entered our territory?”

“I’m looking for someone.” How much information to give was a matter Mary tried to figure out on the fly. She was all too aware that she stood in front of a sleeping giant. “Chinatown’s the last place he was headed.” All knowledge she had was drawn upon - and she remembered Beckett’s advice when it came to dealing with the vampires from the East. “I was told to seek out the leader of the Wan Kuei.”

It drew forth a smile from Ming-Xiao. “No, you weren’t. Your kind much prefers the gibberish they’ve invented to refer to us.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve had more than one of your kind through my doors, but you’re the best mannered. Perhaps I’ll humor you. You’ll have to elaborate on who you seek.” 

Elaboration was dangerous. “He’s probably the worst looking out of all of them.” Internally she thanked Beckett for his advice - the favor she owed him was one she’d do happily if it bought her some mercy in Chinatown.

Annoyance was clear in Ming-Xiao’s gaze. “My concern is not with the shell. I don’t like to repeat myself, Kindred.” She let a moment of silence pass, tension thick in the air. “The visitor I had before you looked much like you do, if that’s your concern.”

“Did he mention a name?” Mary didn’t know if the implication that Ming-Xiao agreed with her assumption was meant to insult or not. 

“He didn’t do me the favor of a proper introduction.” Ming-Xiao tilted her head. “Neither have you. Not to worry, though - I know who you are.”

Panic jolted through her. “How -”

“Information is precious. Open secrets carry little value.” Steepling her fingers together, Ming-Xiao allowed herself a small smile. “My visitor wasn’t the first of your kind I’ve seen - I must confess I mind dealing with your people the least of all Kindred. The appearance of your order reflects the reality of what you are. The mockeries of humanity the rest make are a travesty.” Her gaze shifted across Mary’s face. “They are as cursed and corrupted as you are. Do they give you grief? Kindred, I find, fear the truth.”

“It’s not that deep.” Mary mumbled. “We’re just not easy on the eyes. Humans feel the same way, it’s natural.”

“Is it?” Ming-Xiao hummed. “You give humans little credit when it comes to sensing darkness.”

“Giving humans little credit isn’t something I’m usually accused of.”

“You’ll be the same as the others in time.” 

Mary found the way Ming-Xiao spoke of Kindred as if she knew them unsettled her. “How many of my people have you met?”

“Kindred? Or those with your visage?” Ming-Xiao inquired. “Too many of both for my taste. I prefer you keep your miasma out of my territory, so I’ll grant you a boon. A man similar to you came here, and spent his time in the local clubs. I don’t know why. Somewhere for you to start, perhaps. I’ll suffer your presence for the night. Any longer and a price will have to be discussed.”

“I’ll be quick.” Mary didn’t want to linger either. Something about the energy in the hall set her on edge. “Thank you.”

Ming-Xiao turned, elegantly waving her hand to the door as she did so. “Treat this place with respect. The Camarilla has no power here - they cannot save you from your own ignorance.”

Mary only nodded, scrambling for the door as soon as Ming-Xiao began walking back down the hall. The mist in the garden beyond was heavier than it had been earlier when she exited into it, and it was memory that guided her way back to the gates.

\---

Never had she been so thankful to see neon lights. Something about the marks of technology made the alleys and narrow streets seem like a different world than the temple, and Mary clung to the familiarity. Despite the empty sidewalks she pulled her disguise back around her, and shivered in delight to see her skin whole once more.

It was becoming second nature to her, just as melting into the shadows was - but something about wearing her old face again was doubly comforting. Her best lead was investigating local clubs, and she was excited rather than filled with dread at the concept. To be able to blend into a crowd was a privilege she sorely missed.

Finding one would prove difficult without a map of the area. While Bertram’s laminated map survived her dip in the warren lake, Chinatown was almost uncharted territory - the only labels were sewer entrances and exits. As she passed a creaking fire escape in an alley branching off from the street, a thought struck her. If she had a better view…

Before she could second guess herself, Mary jumped up and grabbed the bottom rung of the fire escape ladder. It was odd to do such a feat in a human body - in life she’d been nowhere near as dextrous, and certainly didn’t have the strength to climb the ladder through upper body strength alone as she now did. What would be an impossibility in life was easy in undeath, and Mary soon successfully managed to reach the roof of the building the fire escape was attached to. Six stories up, the low buildings of Chinatown stretched out around her. The streets were narrow ravines between apartments and shops, occasionally illuminated by the dim yellow glow of vehicle headlights. A dozen blocks away she could make out more lights on the street, dancing neon. Mary willed her heart to beat, and the influx of fresh vitae heightened her senses. Very faintly she could hear the vibrations of bass in a constant beat.

A club. 

Mary stared across the sea of rooftops, a mad thought crossing her mind. The streets were narrow enough, the buildings close enough together that she could make her way across them rather than the sidewalk below. This high there weren’t any prying eyes, any cameras. The only way she’d be seen was if someone on the street looked up at just the right moment. The only eyes above her were on airplanes.

She took off at a run, feet pounding against the asphalt roof. Maybe she’d wake up whoever was on the top floor, but she couldn’t care - the feeling of the wind whipping through her air was wonderful. She had deluded herself so wholly that she could feel that which didn’t exist - her perception was as good as reality, and even her skin felt more sensitive to the moisture in the air.

All of the nervous energy and dread she felt was put into putting one leg in front of the other, her arms pumping at her sides. There was no fear when she reached the building’s edge, and she planted a foot at the last inch of asphalt. Pushing off of it she soared over the narrow street below as if she had wings, and the elation she felt was intoxicating. Mary hit the next roof with a roll, hardly breaking her stride. It felt good to run, as good as it felt to drive down the freeway on the back of a bike - it was as if she was outpacing her worries. There was nothing to think about flying over the rooftops, and she made better time than she would wandering the street below. As she ran she began to drop down to lower buildings, falling a storey with little issue. Despite her appearance she could take as much punishment as ever.

The bass grew louder, the colorful lights in the distance brighter. By the time she reached the building across from the club she was only three stories up, and had to crouch at the building’s edge. Mary was disappointed to have her flight across the rooftops ended, but before her a different challenge was presented.

There was a line of people wrapped around the building, waiting to be let into the club. A bouncer at the front doors looked each prospective guest over, inviting some in and waving others away. From what Mary could tell, attractiveness and money seemed to be the deciding factors, neither of which she possessed in any great amount.

In life Mary wasn’t a woman that stood out - certainly she couldn’t compete with the well dressed women waved inside. Wearing the same face now wouldn’t do her any favors. She backed away from the edge of the roof, approaching a puddle of water that had gathered in a dip in the asphalt. Its surface was smooth, and she could see her face reflected back up at her. Mary closed her eyes. If she could pretend to be who she used to be, pretending to be someone else should be easy enough. She drew from memory the most attractive women she’d seen and conjured the image of a dress she’d seen a celebrity wear once, trying to fabricate exactly how it’d feel in her mind. With another heartbeat, she felt a change in her being. When Mary opened her eyes, an idealized version of her human self looked back up at her from the water’s surface.

Her hair was the same color but longer, falling around her shoulders in the same waves she’d seen Velvet wear. Her nose was smaller, lips fuller, cheekbones more defined. Every nitpick she’d ever had about herself was gone, and the sight was well worth the spike of thirst she felt from using another chunk of her blood reserves. _Now_ she looked like she should have if unlife was kinder, if her sire had been anyone else. Ethereally beautiful in her own way, like all the rest. 

Mary was tempted to make the illusion full time. It was another wall between her and her true self, another veil upheld to hide her from view. Each layer was protection, an added comfort. It was sorely needed in a part of the city where none would mourn her passing, where prying eyes were waiting for her to make her first mistake.

Her descent down the building’s fire escape was as quiet as she could make it, her illusory shoes as practical as she could keep them while still playing into her role. Mary smoothed out her dress as she dropped to the ground, ensuring she didn’t have a hair out of place before stepping out into the light.

Now the attention she drew was an admiring kind, heads turning as she walked down the line of people. Not all of it was welcome, however - there was a familiar hungry quality in the gaze of some that sent chills down her spine. Beauty was a shield and a blade. Once the people waiting in line realized she was intending to skip past them all, however, the scowls she was used to started being cast her way. The music coming from within the club grew louder as she approached the front of the line - and the open doors.

Mary kept her attention focused on the bouncer and put on her best smile. Charisma wasn’t her strong suit - she’d only convinced Ash to follow her by connecting with him, and she was fairly certain she couldn’t use the same tactic with the hulking man guarding the club door. He paused at the sight of her, but looked as bored as ever.

“You from the agency?”

 _What was it people said about improv? Yes, and._ “Mhm.” Mary answered, trying her best to sound confident. “Where should I go?”

“You’ll be escorted in. Didn’t they tell you the rules?”

Mary didn’t know what rules or agencies had to do with anything, but was getting a bad feeling. “They didn’t tell me much.”

The bouncer winced. A man waiting in line snorted impatiently and was cowed with a glare.

“Don’t touch anything unless he tells you to. Don’t look at what you don’t have to. Speak when spoken to, and leave when you’re done. You’ll be escorted back out and paid.” The bouncer explained, waving her into the club. “Talk to the guy by the stairs.”

“Thanks.” Mary replied as politely as she could, earning a look of confusion from the bouncer. She slipped into the club before he could think too hard about the encounter.

High school drama class was good for something.

The inside of the club was more modern than anything Mary had seen yet. The walls and floor were concrete, industrial - light panels were sunk into the floor around the central bar, illuminating it more brightly than the rest of the club. Clusters of couches and tables were lit by ambient teal light, and at the far side of the club she could see a moving dance floor. The music was loud, electronic beats intense enough to rattle her ribcage. In a different world she’d be drawn to the dance floor, but she had a time limit. Every moment spent in Chinatown was pushing her luck, and Mary wasn’t intent on discovering Ming-Xiao’s definition of payment.

Mary approached the bar, and a bartender sidled up in front of her soon after. He was dressed in black, his long dark hair swept neatly behind his ears. It was the fastest service she could ever recall receiving, the bartender looking at her eagerly.

“What can I get you, beautiful?”

It sent sparks of warmth through her, even if the compliment was falsely earned. Her smile grew genuine. “I’m looking for someone, actually.” She withdrew her wallet from her bra, the dress she wore offering no pockets. “But I’ll still pay.”

The bartender looked nervous, but when she retrieved a fifty dollar bill from her wallet any reservations he had disappeared. Mary tucked it in the tip jar, and the bartender leaned forward to better hear her over the music.

“You see a guy here around Halloween? Really gross costume, bald, sharp teeth?” Mary was firing in the dark, and hoped that Barabas’ curse manifested the same as the other Nosferatu she’d seen.

It perplexed the bartender, but judging from the furrow in his brow he was doing his best to remember nevertheless. The earnestness was endearing. “It was pretty busy. Why are you looking for him?”

“He’s gone missing.”

The bartender blanched. “Yeah? That’s a shame.” Mary could smell the nervousness radiating off of him, her sense of smell heightened by her growing thirst. Keeping up the illusion was taxing her blood reserves.

“You look frightened.” Mary leaned forward a little closer, looking the man in the eye. “What’s got you so on edge?”

“I want to keep my job.” he replied swiftly, pulling away and grabbing a glass to wipe at. 

She narrowed her eyes, fairly certain that Barabas’ disappearance wasn’t any accident. Whoever the bartender’s boss was, they likely had something to do with it. “Where’s your boss?”

He swallowed nervously, and Mary’s eye was drawn to the way it made the artery in his throat jump. “Upstairs, that’s no secret. Johnny doesn’t talk to people without an appointment, so don’t bother.”

Understanding dawned within her, and she couldn’t help but grin from her fortune. “Don’t worry, I’m from the agency. You’ve been a doll.” Mary took another bill out of her wallet and slid it over to the bartender directly. “Thanks for the help.” Judging by how most of her work seemed to go, she had a feeling the bartender would be out of a job soon enough.

It earned her a worried look, but the man took the bill nevertheless. He rushed to help another customer, eager to leave her behind.

Now Mary gave the club an in depth look, noting men in suits lingering in the dark corners of the club, their faces hard and cold. She could sense an undercurrent of fear about the place, nearly drowned out by the mania of dancing and drunkenness. Like a draft spilling in through the window, it lay about her feet like cool air.

She found the stairs the bouncer spoke of, and the man standing guard in front of them. He took one look at her and seemed to know her purpose, wordlessly gesturing for her to follow him. It felt like a walk of shame - they crested the illuminated stairs to a balcony overlooking the club, and the men inhabiting it didn’t look at her. Some looked away. She felt hideous all over again.

Conversation was impossible with the music so loud, but Mary had a sneaking suspicion her escort wouldn’t make small talk with her even if she tried. She distracted herself from the bad feeling starting in her gut by peering around at the groups of men gathered in the VIP section. It was a mistake - pistols and uzis lay on the tables, proudly out in the open. If matters came to a shootout, it could be deadly. Mary remembered the feeling of shotgun pellets spraying into her gut, and wasn’t eager to relive the sensation.

Here she didn’t have Nines to take a bullet for her.

Thinking of him was also a mistake - he may as well have been worlds away, and she was sauntering through the lion’s den. Mary’s loneliness was only heightened, the feeling of isolation amplified. She wanted to pull another layer of illusion around herself to self-soothe.

She was led to a set of double doors at the far end of the atrium. Her escort knocked, then pushed them open. He spoke at last. If she was still human, she’d have trouble hearing him over the music. “I’ll be waiting out here.”

Beyond an office lit by teal LEDs awaited - the desk glass, the furniture black leather. The doors were shut and locked behind her when she entered, muffling all outside sound. Once upon a time it would have frightened her, being locked somewhere no one could hear her. Now it was a relief. If anything went wrong, none of the armed men outside would hear. Beneath the artifice Mary wore was the power of the blood, heightened by the fact that in the next room she could hear not only a raised voice but also the subtle beat of a heart. The creature lurking in the dark crevices of her mind felt a thrill at the knowledge that none of the people within the club had any idea what they were dealing with, and the temptation to show them all was growing with her hunger.

The knowledge that she was deep in kuei-jin territory kept her inner beast on a short leash. Mary sat neatly down on one of the couches and waited for the shouting to subside. When it did, the only other door in the room opened to reveal a man that looked like he’d stepped right out of an action movie.

He was dressed like any wannabe crime lord, wearing brand name shoes that must have cost thousands and equally expensive sunglasses despite being indoors. In his hand was a flip phone he snapped shut and slid into his pocket, and the scowl on his face did not change from seeing her.

Johnny, she assumed.

“About fuckin’ time.” Johnny looked her up and down before gesturing for her to follow him, disappearing into the room beyond. There was a change in his scent that reminded her of the crowds in Vesuvius, and an echo of fear rippled across time from her mortal life. 

Still, she followed him into the inner chamber despite having a growing idea of what ‘agency’ she was pretending to be from. It was more like a lounge than an office, a thick and plush sectional couch ringing the wall and a wide coffee table covered with various liquor bottles and the remnants of cocaine dust. A flat screen television lined the wall, and purple LEDs encircling the ceiling cast their glow. Johnny shut the door behind her and settled down on a part of the couch, looking her up and down as if she was a piece of meat. 

“You look different from the rest. Must be a russian bitch.” Johnny observed, his gaze lingering at her hips. 

The beast within her raised its hackles. “I’m from Detroit.” she answered flatly, remaining standing and folding her arms across her chest.

“I don’t remember asking you to speak.” Johnny scowled, starting to loosen his belt. “Maybe I’ll teach you some manners.”

Fantasies of ripping his tongue out danced through her head. “You’re going to listen to me anyways.” she replied coldly. “I’m looking for someone who came through your club, and I want any records you might have.”

It was so unexpected that it left Johnny speechless for a few seconds, his facial expression a total blank. After a few heartbeats (counted by her, her eyes narrowing in on his neck) his mind caught up with what she had said, and his face contorted in rage. “Those fucking idiots -”

He was cut off mid-sentence, for he had reached for his phone. Mary lunged forward, grabbing him by the wrist hard enough to snap it. She hadn’t meant to, but took satisfaction in his howl of pain as he dropped his phone to the ground. 

So close was she to him that she could see his wide eyes through the sunglasses, his pupils pinpricks from fear. “Wh-what the fuck-”

“His name is Barabas.” Mary’s grip on him was firm even as he struggled, and the name prompted recognition in his face.

He _laughed_ at her, then, and she felt cold steel pressing against her gut. So intent was she on studying his face that Johnny had managed to retrieve a pistol from its concealed holster. Johnny grinned, his teeth catching the light. “You dumb bitch. Play nice and maybe I’ll send you back to the feds or whoever the fuck sent you without any more holes than the ones you’ve got.”

Mary snarled at him and was about to call his bluff when the television screen suddenly turned on. The increase in brightness made her squint, and caught both her and Johnny off guard. As her eyes adjusted to the change in light, Mary could make out a man in a dark suit on the screen - and realized that a webcam was set into the top of the television screen. She stiffened, fear lacing through her.

She was seen. Cameras had no conscience to trick.

The man on the television screen seemed to know this, a subtle smile playing across thin lips. “Go ahead, Johnny. Shoot it. No one will come looking for it here.”

 _It,_ the man had called her. Judging by the flush she could make out on the man’s skin through the screen he was as human as Johnny was, but his words implied he knew far more than any human should. Mary couldn’t dwell on it for more than a second, for in the next moment she felt the familiar cold sting of a bullet ripping through her.

In such close quarters the gunshot made her ears ring, but Mary didn’t need to hear to know the noise Johnny made. His mouth was open in a scream, and she knew the cause. The moment pain bloomed through her, so too did her disguise fall away. Every hideous, cursed inch of her was exposed, her inhumanity obvious as her flesh started to knit itself together.

Johnny fired again, and again, and again. With each strike Mary’s skin healed over, the last couple of bullets going wide from how violently Johnny was trembling. The man on the screen observed the display in silence, speaking only when her ears had stopped ringing.

“You see, Johnny, you can’t kill it because it isn’t alive. Unfortunate. You’ve been a valuable business partner.” The man on the screen turned his head so it was clear he was addressing Mary. “I know you have to kill him. I also know that if you don’t kill me your people will end you. Deal with him. You can find me at the Fu Syndicate.”

The screen went black. Mary turned to look at Johnny, the two coming to an understanding of what was to come at the same time.

Johnny went for his boot knife. Mary went for his neck. She won.

The blood tasted better than anything. Johnny got the moment of ecstasy he was originally expecting, moaning weakly as she drained him dry. With satiation came an end to the thrill she felt at ending his life - and greater clarity as to the mess she’d gotten herself into.

Whoever the man was, his existence destroyed the Masquerade. He knew too much. By being seen Mary had breached the Masquerade, and if she didn’t deal with the matter her own life would end up on the line. Dealing with a human should have been easy enough, but the confidence with which he spoke worried her. Damsel had said Kindred who were caught in Chinatown didn’t come back.

Panic spiked through Mary. All paths led to danger and death. To flee Chinatown was to defy LaCroix and the Camarilla. To flee the city would result in her being hunted by beings far more experienced than she was. To go to the Fu Syndicate was to walk into what was almost certainly a trap.

Johnny still held his phone in his dead hand. Mary took it from him and dialled the number she’d longed to call. She needed help, she needed advice - and Nines was her best bet with his experience.

It wasn’t that his voice helped to center her. It wasn’t that she was afraid, and wanted to remember that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. She hung up and dialled the number again, taking care to ensure it was correct - and was met again by endless ringing. It seemed to increase in volume until she was drowning in it, washed under waves of anxiety, and in a desperate bid to end it she hurled the device against the wall.

It shattered, leaving her without a means of communication once more. Mary stared at the remains of plastic and circuitry, horrified at her loss of control. Johnny’s corpse seemed to judge her, limp on the couch.

She pulled the shadows around her and fled.

The Fu Syndicate was her only option. Everything else was certain death.

Uncertain death was the lesser of two evils.

\--

Invisibility was less taxing on her blood reserves than a human illusion was, but Mary felt horrendously fragile as she scurried down the streets. By the time she found the Fu Syndicate - a towering office building on Chinatown’s outskirts - her blood reserves were running low again. Johnny’s blood ran thin.

The plaza it sat in was barren. Mary approached the glass doors to the building and saw only darkness within. It started to rain again. With a breath to steady herself she let Obfuscate fall and grabbed hold of one of the door handles, giving it a gentle tug.

To her surprise, it swung open. Mary stepped inside in time with a low rumble of thunder above, and escaped the ensuing downpour. Los Angeles was drowning, and so was she.

The lobby was dark, but as her eyes adjusted she could see a thin crack of light spilling down from a hallway beyond. She followed it, finding it was coming from a room with a door just barely open. A familiar voice sounded from within.

“Come in.”

The man on the screen.

Mary readied herself for a fight, every muscle taut as she pushed the door open. Instead of a firing squad or worse, she was met with an empty board room - and another television screen.

“Who are you?” she demanded, stomping up to the screen. Her nerves were too frayed for anything close to the politeness she’d treated Ming-Xiao with, her emotions a mess of conflict. 

The man on the screen only smiled. “Someone you should fear.”

A sound like a gunshot, and her world went dark.

\--

Deja vu reigned when consciousness returned to her as if ripped out of her, as the stake was ripped from her chest. For a brief moment visions of the theatre flashed through her mind in the brief half-consciousness of waking. Mary knew one thing as she came to - she was starving, and the person in the hazmat suit who had retrieved the stake from her was so terrified she could hear the blood rushing through their veins. 

The human screamed as Mary chewed through rubber and kevlar to get at their neck. They flailed ineffectually, trying to get the stake back into her to no avail. Mary pinned them to the ground, flat and concrete. Her teeth punctured flesh, the human stilled, and stability returned to her with each gulp of lifesblood. Any mercy on her part died the moment she’d seen the stake in their hands.

With their death she withdrew, still on all fours, and surveyed her surroundings. She was in a small metal room, the floor concrete - and to her dread she realized there was a large viewing window set into it, and beyond was the man from the television screen smiling down at her.

While his voice was muffled through the thick glass, Mary could make out the words. “Subject seems to be the same breed as Beta.” The man narrated to a scientist in a labcoat next to him, scribbling notes down on a clipboard. “As with the other, it is capable of tricking the human eye. As before, its abilities do not extend to video surveillance. Hello, Kindred. Can you hear me?”

She scrambled to her feet, and realized she was naked. Mary could see her body reflected faintly back to her in the glass, and felt revulsion at her own appearance. It was soon overridden by horror at being so exposed, every last inch of leathery and scaled skin lit by harsh fluorescence. A wave of nausea hit when she realized that without the guise of clothing, she looked more like a beast than human.

Still, she fought the idea. “I’m not an it. My name is Mary.” She drew herself to her full height, trying to look confident despite the way her legs shook. “And if you don’t let me the _fuck_ out of here, you’re going to set LA on fire with war. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

The man still only smiled. “Your kind may treat us mortals as playthings and fools, but you’ll learn I am quite different. I know exactly what I’m dealing with. You’re not the first to fall into my web, Kindred.”

 _As with the other, is capable of tricking the human eye._ Mary’s stomach dropped as she connected the dots of Barabas’ disappearance. She’d fallen into the same trap - one that had imprisoned a Nosferatu with the same experience she had, if not more. While her shaking body betrayed her inner thoughts, Mary swallowed her fear and stared up in defiance.

“Pride, hm?” The man hummed at her display. “The one before you cursed us. I have to say I prefer the silence. I’m interested in what you have to teach us.”

They flooded the chamber with carbon monoxide and UV light, the lack of results something the man clearly expected. Mary’s mind raced - how many Kindred had fallen into the same trap she had? Was this the fate of Lily and Barabas?

“Next chamber.” 

A part of the wall slid open, bringing forth sounds of creaking machinery. The chamber beyond was long and narrow, filled with devices that held dancing blades.

“Fortunately, we already have another subject of your breed.” The man began. “Your redundancy means I’m at last able to see the best technique for eradicating your kind. Take heart that your death will provide great advances for science.”

The blades reflected the fluorescent light back in her eyes. Whatever else the man said was drowned out by the sound of the cell phone ringing in her ears again, brought forth with another wave of panic.

Mary was a rat in a trap, dehumanized and bestial, and she was going to die like one.

A sewer rat until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between end of semester madness and general writer's block this was a doozy. Sorry for cliffhanger but the next chapter should be along shortly - this one was growing too beefy so I split it up. Back in the writing saddle now though so stay tuned, thank y'all for your patience. <3


	18. Chinatown II

Mary was put through a gauntlet. Part of her was reminded of high school gym class, her human lungs screaming in agony as the gym teacher screamed at her in turn, her skin flushed and sweating and everyone staring. Now her body was put through pain exponentially worse.

Blades bit into her skin as she grabbed one of them, tearing it from the device and using it to jam the electrical box. She’d thought herself clever, but the man observing her never ceased smiling that smug smile of his, and opened yet another chamber for her to run through.

So it continued. Electricity, acid, radiation - hazards she ended up disabling but not before taking damage herself. The little blood she’d obtained from the person in the hazmat suit was burned away mending flesh sliced open by blades and burned away by acid. When the next chamber pitted her against a strike team with phosphorus rounds, every drop of blood she managed to consume was put to work repairing the craters each bullet tore into her body.

Each time, she stared furiously up at the viewing window. Each time, the shaking of her body increased, the beast within her throwing itself against the barriers of her mind, howling for release. Mary refused to let it take over - she felt as if it was what the man was expecting, and it was the last bit of control she still held over the situation. He would not break her.

The next chamber appeared harmless when she looked at it - a single, long hallway. Somehow that terrified her more than anything else. Mary stayed in the chamber filled with the bodies of the strike team, hesitant to continue.

Until the man watching her laughed. “Cowardice, or cleverness?” he mocked her. “You’ve done well so far. Don’t disappoint me now.”

_Don’t disappoint me._

Mary threw herself at the glass for the first time, the phrase reaching into her past and stabbing into a delicate nerve. Her fists collided with it, cracking the glass. It made the scientist next to the man stumble back, but he did not budge. She continued to pummel the surface with her skinny fists, scratching it to hell and back but unsuccessful at doing any worthwhile damage. The hairline fracture was the only sign of her strength.

“Subject is stronger than the previous one.” The man said to the scientist, who had cautiously approached the glass once it was clear Mary wasn’t going to shatter it. “Psychological damage obvious from previous trials. Subject is frightened to enter the next chamber.”

“I’m not frightened.” Mary breathed, more to convince herself of it than anything. She was Kindred, she’d survived the Ocean House, she’d managed to get Ash Rivers out of Hollywood, she’d faced Andrei and his constructs. She’d managed to stay alive without a sire, as the lowest of the low and with a guise too nightmarish to be seen by mortal eyes. She shouldn’t have been afraid.

She shouldn’t have fallen into the trap in the first place.

“I can shut the doors and let you starve to death.” The man said, when it was clear Mary wasn’t intent on budging anytime soon. “I’ve been studying what hunger does to your kind.” His polite smile turned genuinely pleased to see the fear on her face. “It’s quite painful, but you knew that already, didn’t you? It also makes you lose control. I wonder how your mind will break.”

Mary stepped into the next chamber, conceding defeat.

The wall slid shut behind her, and she knew immediately that she’d made a terrible mistake as the scent of gas filled her nostrils. Side panels in the wall across from the viewing window opened, revealing tanks of fuel and release valves above them. Mary saw the flickering line of pilot lights, and then the hall was filled with flame.

Intense heat seared the front of her body as she tried to flatten herself against the wall, attempting to stay as far away from the flames as possible. She had a few feet of space, but it wasn’t enough - _miles_ of space wouldn’t be enough. Her throat closed up from fear, and she turned to scratch at the wall, desperate to find where it opened from. Mary found no purchase. The room was getting hotter and hotter - even pressed against the wall the heat was intense enough to cause pain. What little blood she had left was burned away trying to keep her skin from melting.

“Subject appears to be crying blood.” The man noted. “Minor burns are healed as soon as they are received, similar to previous injuries. Chamber temperature will reach one hundred and sixty degrees fahrenheit in thirty seconds.”

The air was rippling from the heat, and Mary wasn’t certain if it was the blood pouring out of her eyes that was causing the edges of her vision to tint red or the heat itself. Either she’d cook alive, or she’d burn alive. There was no mercy for her. No escape. Mary squeezed her eyes shut to try and escape it, like a child hiding under a blanket.

Her parent’s faces came to her - they’d filled her childhood with threats of damnation, beatings given to keep her from a worse fate. She’d put a bullet in both of them and run. She’d thought she could escape it all.

Was this what she had earned? A brief second chapter of suffering, moments of bliss only serving to heighten the nightmare of unlife, finally brought to a painful end? Had judgement come? What would become of her soul?

Mary opened her eyes and looked to the viewing window. The fire’s reflection danced in the man’s sunglasses - and when she caught sight of her own reflection in the glass, time seemed to slow.

She was a monster. Cursed to be hideous, damned to fear the flames and the sun. A demon in skin.

Everything went red, red as the flame, burning hot - heat behind her eyes, heat in her throat. Mary turned to face the viewing window, tensed her muscles, and took a running leap forward.

The glass shattered, pieces of it embedding itself in her flesh. She didn’t care. In the same moment she broke into the viewing station, oxygen flooded the chamber behind her. There was an explosion of flame and glass, rocking the building. Mary’s body was ignited, and pain was all she knew when she hit the ground.

“Get it contained!” The man shouted, sprinting down the hall and out of sight. The scientist ran to pull the fire alarm and set off the sprinklers. In the next moment Mary slammed into them, still aflame, and tore into their carotid artery.

 _Feast. Feast._ The beast in her head rejoiced, the blood repairing her charred skin. Mary turned her head at the sound of more footsteps, the flames that consumed her body starting to flicker from the sustained assault by the sprinklers. Men with guns much like the strike team she’d faced earlier approached and took no time in opening fire. Mary ran at them at all fours, unperceiving of the phosphorus rounds ripping into her body. She grabbed one soldier as if he was a ragdoll, throwing him at the other with enough force to break bone. With them crippled on the ground she pounced.

Tendons were pulled apart, cartilage snapped into, arteries opened. The pristine tile of the facility’s floor was made wet with blood and water. The fire was extinguished, the pain abating, but Mary’s work had only just begun.

They had made her a beast. They were going to see what a beast could do.

Her claws clicked against the floor, hands sticky with blood. Scientists, janitors, security guards - every unfortunate human in her way was either shredded with her claws or torn into with her teeth. She rejoiced at the sight of disembowelment, relished in slicing a woman’s face to ribbons. Mary roared with a voice that wasn’t hers - she was and wasn’t herself, the antithesis of what she tried to be and the distillation of the darkness that lurked in her blood.

The front of her was coated in blood, the saliva dripping from between her teeth just as crimson. Mary knew what she looked like from the fear in her victims’ eyes, but in her frenzy she at last did not care what any thought of her.

Doors were smashed open, pleading cries ignored. They had underestimated her. They had thought her like the others - whatever Kindred they’d found could not compete with her. She was childe of Casimir, childe of the Red Star - she was _power_ , she was _truth_ , she crushed lives in her hands. In the blood fever, she was a god.

Mary made a glutton of herself until there was only one heartbeat she could ascertain - a last door in her way. When she broke it down, the man who had imprisoned her waited on the other side. He had a flamethrower in his hands.

She lunged, screaming as the flames engulfed her. Mary tore the flamethrower from the man’s hands - and took his arms with it. A roar of victory, and then her teeth were in his neck - sawing, chewing, swallowing. Her claws savaged his torso, her entire being consumed with rage and revenge. The sprinklers rained water down upon her, soothing her wounds as she savored her victory. When she was done, a misshapen pile of flesh was all that remained of her captor.

Mary paced the room on all fours, seething and growling. There was nothing more to kill, and so she turned on the room itself - a storage room, boxes of files lining the shelves. She threw them to the ground, shredded paper and watched the ink bleed. The urge to ruin started to wane with no blood to feast herself on, and her wave of destruction slowed with each new shelf demolished until at last she stood upright on two feet again.

Clarity came like a bucket of water to the face. It was stark and sober, the awareness of the gore on her body slowly washing away, the bits of tendon still caught between her teeth. One of her claws had broken in the frenzy.

Frenzy.

Full understanding came upon her. She’d lost control, and when her eyes settled on the mangled remains of her captor she realized just what she was capable of. The faces of the humans she’d killed were a haze in her mind, but they were clear enough to cause her to bend over and vomit up the blood she’d gorged herself on.

Mary wept. How could she go back now? How could she pretend she was anything but what she’d just become? She wanted to scratch out her eyes, she wanted to die - what would they think of her? Perhaps Andrei was right, perhaps monstrosity was in her nature -

“You about done?”

A voice broke the silence - male and rasping, with just a hint of an australian accent. The ridiculousness of the phrase was enough to shock her out of her spiral. Something other than the horror - someone still alive. She wasn’t alone.

Mary turned, finally able to perceive a pair of thick steel doors set into the storage room wall, gone unnoticed in her frenzy. Each had a tiny viewing window in them. “Barabas?” she called back, her voice cracking with each syllable as if her throat was fighting her attempts at speech.

“Who’s asking?” The voice answered. “Look, get these bloody doors open and then I’ll tell you whatever you want. I think the fucker in charge has the keys.”

Mary pawed through the gore that was her captor, finding a key ring in the remains of what were his legs - they must have been in his back pocket. It took her a few tries to grab them, so slippery were they with blood, but at last she managed to pick them up and figure out which one opened the door to the voice’s cell.

A Nosferatu greeted her, his curse manifesting in a way similar to Gary’s. Barabas, it had to be - and he looked exhausted, eyes bloodshot and somewhat unfocused. His clothes were straight out of a skate park - baggy jeans and an equally baggy t-shirt. He looked her up and down and frowned.

“Christ, they really did a number on you, huh? Did they strip you, or did your Beast decide it didn’t like clothes?”

Mary started to laugh. Nervous at first, then hysterical - weeping from relief and the absurdity of it all. She had found who she was looking for, she had lost all control of herself, and he’d made a joke of it.

Barabas’ frown deepened, and he tugged his shirt over his shoulders and offered it to her, nudging her shoulder to try and get her out of her laughing fit. The jostling succeeded at bringing her back to reality, but when her fingers brushed the soft cloth she nearly wept again. It didn’t feel right, someone like her wearing something so soft.

“Go ahead and put it on. You might scare the girl otherwise.” he nudged his head in the direction of the other door. “Might help with the whole, uh…”

Mary pulled the shirt on - Barabas was taller than she, and so it served more like a dress than a shirt, falling to her mid thighs. The spikes at her shoulder tore into the right sleeve, but she didn't care. He was right - it did help, a tiny sign of humanity. Of identity. A layer of protection against exposure. She found her voice again.

“Did you… did you see…”

“I heard it. Looks about what it sounded like - you’re a woodchipper when you get going, aye?” Barabas observed. “First time?”

Mary nodded.

“Explains the crying.” he grunted. “Frenzies happen to the best of us, kid. You should be happy it happened here - made our job a lot easier.” Barabas approached the other door, peering in through the viewport. “You still alive in there, flower girl?”

“Yes.” Came a weak reply - a woman’s voice, soft and gentle enough that Mary felt as if she couldn’t occupy the same space as it.

Still, she approached the door and unlocked it as she had Barabas’. Unlike him, its occupant wasn’t standing. Slumped against the wall was a young woman with ginger hair and a splash of freckles across her cheeks. She was dressed like any girl about to spend the weekend in the sun, and she was beautiful in a way Mary could only describe as delicate.

“Lily?”

The girl looked up, a smile crossing her features. “You know who I am?”

“E sent me.” Mary lingered in the doorway, frightened to approach her. “Are you okay?”

“I should be asking you that.” Lily’s eyes widened as she looked at Mary. “They’ve been starving me just enough to keep me weak. They learned their lesson from trying anything more than that.” Her expression darkened, and Mary realized that Lily wasn’t a stranger to her inner beast either. It didn’t last long, though - her smile soon returned to her face. “E hasn’t forgotten about me?”

“To everyone else’s frustration.” Mary answered, the normalcy something she clung to like a lifeline, shoving down her lingering nausea and horror. Barabas and Lily didn’t seem bothered by what she’d done, and for now at least she could pretend that everything was fine. “He’s still waiting for you. We should get you something to eat before we head to Santa Monica.” A pause, recollection dawning on her. “Shit.” Mary murmured, wishing she hadn’t been such a glutton - anyone Lily could feed on in the facility was dead, thanks to her. There were other options, though... “If I let you feed from me, do you think - “

“You crazy?” Barabas spoke up from behind her. “I knew you were a caitiff, but christ. Don’t let anyone feed from you unless you’re ready to die. Accidents happen even when people aren’t thirsty.” He elbowed past Mary and helped Lily to her feet. “Thin blood will be right as rain if you get a few rats in her.”

Lily nodded, taking a few wobbly steps forward before gaining her footing. She was like a baby deer. At the sight of the carnage beyond her cell, Lily paused - for a moment Mary was terrified she’d turn tail and run, but instead Lily spit on the ground. “Got what he deserved.”

“We can gloat later.” Barabas interjected, turning to Mary. “We’ve got to get out of here before actual kuei-jin turn up.”

If humans aligned with them could do so much damage, Mary truly didn’t want to think of what the immortals of the east were capable of. Dread pooled in her stomach, realizing that thanks to the facility they were now better aware of how to efficiently kill Kindred. They had decimated the anarchs flying in blind as it was. She glanced at the broken flamethrower on the ground, leaking fuel. “What about their research?”

“Mainframe should be on our way out.” Barabas answered - at Mary’s questioning look, he shrugged. “You get a feel for what server rooms sound like. I had fuck all to do in there.” He jerked a thumb back to his cell. “Now let’s _go_.”

They returned back to the hallway, Barabas having the manners not to mention the absolute carnage that lay within. Lily limped behind them as they snaked through the empty corridors - true enough, Mary could hear a faint electric buzzing as they approached a set of double doors. Behind them lay a server room with two computers.

“I’ve got the one in the back. See what you can find on the other one.” Barabas instructed before marching deeper into the server room.

Mary and Lily exchanged looks. “I’ll keep an eye out.” Lily offered lamely, and Mary approached the nearer computer.

It was still logged in - to her captor’s account, no less. She wondered how such a clever man could have such a lack of security, but any musings of hers ended when she accessed the man’s inbox.

An exchange of email threads with a user referred to only as “Priestess”. While it was obvious who pulled the strings of the operation, confirmation still sent chills down her spine. Ming-Xiao had led her into the trap in full knowledge of what awaited, and Mary had no idea. The letters on the screen could spell war - this went beyond a truce, she was sure of it. Mary had to have the evidence to prompt anyone to action.

She forwarded the email threads to her own account before doing her best to metaphorically nuke all the data she could. Once she’d cleared out every online database she physically pulled out the computer’s hard drive and snapped the case open, exposing it to the air.

“Overkill, huh? Not bad, for an anarch caitiff.” Barabas said - he was behind her again, somehow. Mary supposed it came with her clan, and felt a slight pang of heartache for missing out on growing up among them.

"How do you know I'm an-"

"Anarch? It's pretty obvious. Talk of the warren for a couple days, actually." Barabas grinned at her, heading back into the hallway.

Mary stumbled mid-step, anxiety threatening to boil over. If it was obvious, returning to give her report to LaCroix was dangerous. “How am I not dead?”

“Because as far as Camarilla princes go, LaCroix’s a pushover.” Barabas answered, pausing at a corner and peering carefully around it before continuing. “Some cities execute anyone dumb enough to be obvious about it, but LA’s lax. For now.”

“It’s not the same for thin bloods.” Lily murmured, and Mary cast her a sympathetic look. Now that they were approaching the lobby, their surroundings were mercifully clean of carnage.

“Never thought I’d say being one of the clan is an improvement, but life’s full of surprises.” Barabas winced, tugging open the double doors leading to the lobby.

They were met by a hail of gunfire. Lily had impressive reflexes, diving for cover the second the first muzzle flashed. Barabas cackled even as bullets flew into his exposed torso, and he lunged forward with his teeth bared in a horrible smile, obviously eager to wreck vengeance. The thought of further violence sickened Mary, but a bullet grazing her cheek quickly changed her mind.

A private police force had set up in the lobby, armed with assault rifles and kevlar vests. They’d be more than a match for any mortal, but a pair of Nosferatu were the last thing they expected.

Barabas was a practiced hand, and Mary found herself mimicking his movements when it came to dispatching their foes. The fight was a dance, careful movements to confuse and evade, precise strikes meant to maximize power and minimize energy expended. Again, Mary wished she hadn’t been so separated from her clan - and was desperately eager to find out more about them. At some point Lily scurried out from cover and grabbed a rifle from a fallen commander, dispatching the last few of the squad out of reach of the two Nosferatu.

The blood on the floor reflected the neon lights pouring into the dark lobby through the front doors. It was almost beautiful.

Mary found herself all too able to understand Andrei, that night. She desperately wished otherwise.

“Good work, ladies.” Barabas breathed, rubbing at a healing wound in his wrist. Lily’s answer was muffled, her teeth sunk into the neck of a soldier who wasn’t quite dead.

“You’d better find Gary.” Mary turned her attention to the lobby’s analog clock. 3:30 AM. The sun would be up soon - too soon for her to get back to Hollywood, and much too soon for her to get Lily back to Santa Monica. She swallowed, realizing that The Last Round was her nearest safe haven. After the night she had, facing the others was the last thing she wanted to do - but they were likely the only people who would put up with a thin blood under their roof.

Barabas was already far ahead of her, pushing open the front door. The blood on his hands stained the glass - Mary wondered if Masquerade breaches counted in kuei-jin territory. Lily released the man she was feeding on and hurried outside with them.

It was still raining, water turning the neon reflections into fractals. Mary inhaled the cool air, letting it wash away the smoke that clung to her throat and nostrils. She felt like a patient wearing a hospital gown, Barabas’ shirt thin enough that she could feel the wind blow through it.

“You’d better catch a cab.” Barabas advised. “Sewers ‘round here are dangerous even in the day. D’you have enough blood to mask-”

He didn’t have time to finish his question, for Mary was already approaching a pool of water on the ground. Barabas and Lily kept a nervous eye on their surroundings - for now the plaza was still empty, but surely those who worked nights were about to finish their shift. The third time putting on the mask felt like instinct, her own desire to hide making the illusion all the easier. She wanted to believe, longed to be tricked, and when she opened her eyes the plain face of the woman she once was stared back up at her. Now she felt a bit less like a hospital patient, the tshirt no longer hanging limply over her bony form but now suggesting her shape was actually human. A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine, a weight lifted from her shoulders. She was safe. She was hidden.

Lily gasped from behind her, and she couldn’t help grinning back. Barabas only nodded.

“Get the flower girl back to her prince charming, alright?” he asked sternly, and Mary wondered what conversations had transpired between them in their imprisonment. “I’ve got shit that could start a war I gotta tell.”

Mary squinted into the rain, making out a row of payphones below. Change wouldn’t be an issue - she still remembered just how to hit the machines to get into the coins they held within. The dim fluorescent light within their stall might as well have been the light of heaven, for all the promise they offered Mary. They’d escaped. “I promise.” she nodded at Barabas. “Thanks.”

He took off at a run, sneakers splashing against the wet pavement. “Stay alive out there, fledgling!” he called over his shoulder, and in the next moment he was gone.

“You know.” Lily spoke up, somewhat shyly. “Tonight’s my first time seeing what he looked like. First time seeing any Nosferatu, actually. Do you guys normally look like…” she gestured at Mary’s current form.

“Depends who you ask.” Mary repeated Barabas’ answer, crossing her arms under Lily’s study. Things were too raw for her to be able to stand any sort of scrutiny, Obfuscate or not, and so she started down the plaza to the glowing telephone booths. Her bare feet slapped against the pavement, cold water tickling her toes. Sensation was heightened, as if her body had been so prepared to die that now it was desperately trying to feel as much as it could before the end. “It costs blood to keep it up, and it doesn’t work on cameras. Not really much practical use over staying invisible. People told me not to rely on it, but it’s nice.” It was better than nice - having the guise over her was life support, making the nightmare that her rest of her night had been a faint far away memory. Mary wasn’t the creature that had torn humans apart with glee. She couldn’t be - not when she looked human.

Lily yelped when she ran out into the downpour, startled by the feeling of water droplets on her skin. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, judging by her relieved smile as she walked beside Mary. à light wrinkle formed between her brow at the concept of Mary being told not to hide her true form. “Who told you that?”

“The head of my clan, and a couple other vampires older than me.” she shrugged, hair already stuck to her face from moisture. Mary started to wonder how exactly that worked, if her hair was an illusion - and felt her grip on her disguise slip. Best to avoid that line of thought - she had to fool herself, and losing her suspension of disbelief meant losing her guise of humanity. They soon reached the phone booths, and both of them hurriedly tucked themselves inside to shelter from the rain.

Lily frowned, thinking over what Mary said while she sharply elbowed the phone’s body in a specific manner, sending handfuls of quarters spitting out from the change box. She knelt to help Mary pick them up, speaking again. “If the head of your clan said so, maybe it’s a bad idea.”

Mary scowled, snatching the quarters from Lily’s hands and standing to feed them into the payphone with more force than necessary. “Yeah, I’m sure a thin blood knows all about whether or not it’s good to use complicated illusions.” she snapped. The idea of going without her mask was a painful one, and she couldn’t keep herself from lashing out at the concept of it being taken from her. “I can go skipping down the beach to find my prince charming like you, can’t I? No reason to stay hidden, really.” She pulled the receiver from its holster roughly enough to dislodge a screw holding a corner of the payphone to the booth, causing it to tilt to the side.

Lily was silent.

Whatever beast had been unleashed that night was now wiggling perilously close to Mary’s skin, its tongue threatening to replace hers. She closed her eyes and took a self soothing breath to center herself. “I’m sorry.” she apologized, gathering the will to look back at Lily.

“It’s been a long night.” Lily answered quietly. “It’s alright.”

The Los Angeles cab line was one Mary was quite familiar with in the last of her human years, and her claws scratched at the payphone’s casing as she punched in the number. A quick exchange of address with the operator, and their means of transportation was on its way.

Lily kept nervously glancing back at the Fu Syndicate in the plaza behind them, and Mary found herself sharing her anxieties.

“We give them fifteen minutes.” she said, trying to alleviate the nervousness in the air with a plan. “It doesn’t take long to get a cab downtown.” They _were_ downtown, she could see Venture Tower’s spire rising above all the other nearby skyscrapers - the fact that she had almost died so close to safety had the monster within her pulling at its leash. Safety still wasn’t guaranteed - waiting for too long would put them at risk of discovery. The sewers were just as dangerous, if Barabas’ word was anything to go by.

“Mm.” Lily hummed, looking far from comforted. “What if we have to go underground?”

“We get as much ground as we can between us and this place before sunrise and hope they can’t track us down.” Mary mumbled in reply. "I guess dying in our sleep isn't too bad when it comes to ways to go."

"They wouldn't kill us." Lily replied gravely, and the implication was enough to have them both falling silent once more.

The quiet lasted for several minutes, Mary nervously counting down the seconds in her mind for lack of a watch. It was broken by the sound of tires on wet pavement, and to her relief when the glare of approaching headlights dimmed it was only a taxi cab that approached and not an armored vehicle or squad car. For a moment she worried that her appearance would set off alarm bells for the driver - she was still clad only in a well-worn black t-shirt, soaked to the bone and barefoot, while Lily was similarly drenched and still had bloodstains on the hem of her pants.

Yet the driver asked no questions as the two women hastily piled into the back seat. It was the same driver of Mary’s first cab, the man who had taken her to the Last Round without her specifying it. He still wore his shades despite the late hour. The clock read 3:40.

“Where to?”

“The Last Round.” Mary answered, and swore there was a hint of a smirk on the man’s features as he pressed his foot to the accelerator. She didn’t have any money, she realized belatedly - and it was likely Lily didn’t have anything either. Mary’s suspicions were confirmed when she caught Lily’s guilty eye, and she swore under her breath. She was an idiot to give away their final destination, skipping out on the fare would be difficult.

“You seem to have had a night of trials.” The cab driver observed, as if reading her thoughts. Mary stiffened in her seat.

“We don’t have any money.” Lily blurted out.

“I have friends where we’re going, they can pay it.” Mary added quickly, thinking on her feet - certainly Damsel could spot her the fare, couldn’t she? “I’ll stay in the car until they do, promise.”

The cab driver lifted his chin to look in the rear view mirror properly, and a passing street lamp allowed her the briefest glance at his eyes. They appeared black, and the moment she bore witness it was as if a great weight was pressing her back into her seat. It was as if she had to breathe again, and had been holding her breath for far too long.

“I know your destination.” he said flatly, weaving between traffic without looking at the road. “I know your Jack. I will do you this favor.”

Lily was staring at her in concern, clearly not sharing the same intense feeling Mary was experiencing. She swallowed and spoke for her, voice feather light and gentle as ever. “Thank you. You’re right, we have had a rough night. I’m Lily.”

While the girl’s charisma was admirable, the driver was unaffected, merely humming in acknowledgement and falling back into silence. As he turned his attention back to the road, Mary was released from the grip of his gaze. Lily reached over to place a hand on her knee, and Mary flinched away violently.

The buildings grew more dilapidated as they drove into skid row, the few people still out on the streets at such a late hour gathered under awnings and doorways to avoid the rain. They were back in Anarch territory, but Barabas’ words had her wondering if she was safe even there.

Mary put on a brave face for Lily’s sake, realizing her own nerves were setting the girl on edge. If what she heard from E was any indicator, the city’s thin bloods were desperately uninformed - and Mary knew that nothing was more frightening than the unknown.

At last a familiar street greeted her, The Last Round keeping a lonely vigil beneath the freeway overpass. To Mary’s surprise - and concern - there were several vehicles parked in front of the bar. Battered old muscle cars and a couple of motorbikes sat next to the curb, and one of the bikes Mary knew on sight. Unconsciously she tried to smooth out the shirt she wore.

The cab drew to a halt, and its mysterious driver merely nodded at the two women. They both practically fell out of the cab in their haste to return to safe ground, though Lily was sure to lavish extensive thanks and praise onto the driver on her way out. Mary had barely shut the cab door behind her before the vehicle was off once more - now she was _certain_ the driver was Kindred, and figured he was off to flee the approaching sun.

“Is it safe?” Lily asked, and Mary realized that to fresh eyes the place must have looked worrying indeed. The rain was causing the iron casings of the lights above the sign to rust, and it was bleeding down onto the paint below.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” she answered. Through the upstairs windows she could make out the shadows of several individuals. It seemed the anarchs had company - company whose opinions on thin-bloods Mary wasn’t sure of. She gestured for Lily to follow her into the back alley. “Safest place I know in the area, but it’s probably best we don’t make a scene.”

“Okay.” Lily whispered, following Mary into the backlot of the bar. In ordinary circumstances, Mary would think her trust was too easily given - but after the Fu Syndicate, she felt a strange bond with the thin blooded woman. Perhaps Lily felt the same. She didn’t complain when Mary climbed up onto the dumpster and helped her up, nor when she ducked into the women’s bathroom from the upstairs window.

The music was as loud as it ever was, and Mary smiled a little to see Lily covering her ears. “Stay here for a second. I’m going to see if there’s any room at the inn.” She’d be happy to sleep in the bar’s storage cellar, but figured Lily had spent long enough in a cell.

Carefully she nudged open the washroom door just a crack - and thanked her lucky stars that Damsel was within sight. Her attention was focused where the upstairs tables had been pushed together, The Last Round’s guests gathered around it. Shouting broke out, and she frowned.

It was the distraction Mary needed. “Damsel.” she hissed, loud as she dared.

Confusion took over Damsel’s face when she saw where the voice was coming from, but it was soon replaced by a scowl. Before Mary could react Damsel marched forward, batted the door aside, and shoved Mary deeper into the bathroom.

“Can’t you see we’re closed? You better get the fuck out of here, stranger, before I-” she’d caught sight of Lily, now, and was about to round on her if it wasn’t for Mary quickly grabbing the hem of her shirt.

“Damsel, it’s me. Mary.” Her mask was so comfortable she’d forgotten she was wearing it, the reflection she’d seen in the mirror a reality she desperately wished for. Perhaps it was a good thing Damsel hadn’t recognized her human form - it meant that Mary would have less explaining to do.

It was enough to halt Damsel’s anger, and cautiously Mary released her shirt. The brujah leaned forward, squinting at Mary suspiciously. “Yeah? Then what was I doing the last time I saw you?”

The paranoia was well-earned, but she still felt a little stung. “You were looking into who the hunters here were, because everyone else is too scared of computers.”

Damsel’s scowl flipped into a wide smile. “Holy shit, briar patch. You’ve been gone a week. I’d go tell the rest of the boys, but they’re busy talking politics.”

Mary frowned. “Why aren’t you talking with them?”

“Because they're just talking politics. Yapping their traps and refusing to aactually do anything.” Damsel grunted, looking over at Lily again. “Who’s she?”

“I’m Lily. Mary got me out of Chinatown.”

“I made a promise to get her back to Santa Monica, but we only just got out.” Mary explained, feeling a pang of guilt at the realization that she hadn’t properly introduced herself to Lily. “If I had anywhere else to go, I wouldn’t be asking. She’s thin blood.”

Damsel sobered, but gave Lily a respectful nod. A good start. “You picked the right place. We’ve got a few of your people in our ranks already, we don’t buy the whole doom and gloom shit. If you’re ready to stick it to the Camarilla, doesn’t matter how thick your blood runs.”

Lily looked mildly confused. Mary cleared her throat.

“We just need a place to stay until sunset tomorrow. I don’t trust the sewers. I know you’ve got company, but you wouldn’t happen to have some space next door, would you?”

“I’ve got a guest room in my pad. Plus the loft. Nines told me to keep it open for you.”

The thought sent sparks off in Mary’s chest, but she tried not to show it. She looked at Lily. “Sound good? You’ve got first dibs.”

“I’ll take the guest room.” she answered. “I… I don’t like lofts.”

There was something left unsaid, a note of pain Mary was familiar enough with not to chase the subject. “You gonna be okay with Damsel?”

Damsel looked offended. “I don’t _snore_ , you know.” It got a giggle out of Lily, and it was enough to assure Mary that they’d get along for the night at least. “I’ll show you guys in.” She looked Mary up and down. “And I’ll get you some pants. Nice ass, briar patch.”

It was Mary’s turn to scowl, and she tugged the hem of the overlarge shirt further down as Damsel snickered. Lily at least cast her a sympathetic look.

The three women left the washroom and slipped downstairs, the gathering above paying them no mind. Skelter was posted at his usual spot, eyes widening as Mary passed him by though he said nothing. Her skin prickled, as if she could feel his gaze - _could he see_ , a frantic voice in her mind started to repeat, and she very nearly pressed herself against Damsel’s back in her hurry to leave. Lily, meanwhile, was looking about quite curiously - looking about as out of place as she could be with her elfin bearing. She looked as relieved as Mary to leave the bar, though her reasoning likely had to do with the wonderful silence outside.

Damsel led them into the small apartment building next door, and Mary swallowed her dread. She’d tried to avoid the place, she’d felt as if she didn’t belong - but she was pretending now, fooling herself as much as any of them. She wasn’t a monster. She hadn’t done what she’d done in Chinatown. Everything was fine. She could pretend until she got Lily back to Santa Monica, and then she could return to her haven and process matters in peace.

 _Or she could keep pretending. Why should she ever stop?_ Gary had warned her, but he couldn’t understand. He’d clearly set his humanity by the wayside.

They followed Damsel up a couple flights of stairs - her apartment was on the third floor, and her keyring had a tiny plastic grenade dangling from a chain. Mary noted that Damsel’s posture changed the moment she hip-checked the door open - the constant buzzing energy the brujah seemed to possess softening.

It was about as neglected as the rest of the building - the walls were water stained, the appliances yellowing and rusted. Thick and heavy curtains hid the windows from view, the only light coming from the light over the stove and a large lava lamp on the coffee table. The couch was plush, deep green and well loved, a collection of blankets gathered at one end and a pillow at the other. Above it hung a flag with the anarchist symbol upon it - the wall across was host to a large stereo and shelves lined with vinyl records. News clippings papered whatever inches of wall space weren’t taken up with posters of various propagandistic art. If Mary didn’t know any better, she’d be seeking out a bong to complete the image of college dorm paradise.

“Guest room’s here.” Damsel kicked an empty box out of the way of a thin door. Lily eagerly followed her, peering into the room revealed by the door opening. It consisted of a twin mattress on the floor and a single dresser.

Lily immediately flopped down onto the mattress, her groan of relief muffled by the pillow she buried her face in. Damsel pulled open the dresser drawers, tossing clothes out with little care for the mess she was making. “What size are you?” she asked over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to.” Mary answered, lingering in the doorway. “I’ll be out of your hair in a few hours, I’ll go raid a Pac Sun or something -”

“Eugh.” Damsel wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Alright, one size fits all it is.” She withdrew a pair of plaid pajama pants with a drawstring waist and tossed them at Mary.

“Didn’t think you were a pajama kind of girl.” Mary murmured, wiggling them over her hips and tying the strings into a bow.

“This is all stuff I’ve scrounged for. Always good to have a change of clothes - helps you avoid the cops and worse. My stuff’s in boxes out there.” Damsel jerked her thumb back to the living room.

Lily lifted her head from the pillow at last. “Why do you sleep on the couch? This mattress is wonderful.”

“It’s easier to get up off a couch and kick ass when someone busts in your door.” Damsel answered. “Give me a sec, I’ll grab you guys some blood.”

“You really don’t-” Mary began, but Damsel had already nudged her aside and headed for the kitchen.

“My mom always said to never turn down help.” Lily murmured, looking up at Mary with her vibrant eyes. “You’re old fashioned.”

“I’m probably newer at this than you are.” Mary admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “My uh. My parents were the old fashioned type. In a bad way. I guess there’s a few bad habits I haven’t shaken.”

Lily sat up and moved to lean against the wall, glancing down at her feet. “Bad parents must make it easier.”

“Make what easier?”

“The whole death thing.” Lily offered her a watery smile. “I… I didn’t really feel it, until Chinatown, but now…”

“Yeah.” Mary breathed in response. “I know the feeling.”

Music started in the room beyond - it took a few bars before Mary recognized the artist, a folk rock band from the early 70s with a masterpiece album revolving around infidelity. Her parents never let her listen to it, but it got enough radio play that she knew a few of the words. Damsel poked back in not long after, two blood bags in hand.

“You guys look like shit.” she said, tactful as always as she handed the blood bags over. “What happened?”

“We were lab rats.” Lily answered quietly, more willing to talk about it than Mary was. “They were studying us.”

Damsel leaned against the wall, expression sobering. “How many of you were there?”

“It was just me for a couple weeks. Then Barabas. Then Mary.”

“Shit.” Damsel closed her eyes briefly. “Few of our boys went missing there. It’d be nice to know what happened to them.”

“If they weren’t there, it’s a good thing.” Mary said darkly.

Damsel didn’t know what to do to comfort her, that much was obvious. She fidgeted. “You find your guy?”

“Yeah. I should probably stop by Hollywood after dropping Lily off.”

They fell into silence, Damsel pondering the implications of an experiment going down in Chinatown while Mary and Lily drained their blood packs. It felt good, reassuring - another few hours of her disguise bought.

“So… did Gary teach you that trick?” Damsel broke the silence, peering at Mary curiously. “You remind me of someone looking like that.”

“He did.” Mary swallowed her last mouthful of blood, suddenly very aware of Damsel studying her. “I didn’t base this on anyone. Just thought of something generic, I guess.”

Lily picked up on her discomfort, breaking in to change the subject. “Can I borrow your phone?”

Damsel retreated back into the living room for just a moment, bringing back a handheld landline phone and handing it over to Lily. The thin blood girl quickly pressed a series of numbers, and held the phone to her ear.

Mary could guess who she was calling, and E’s faint voice at the other end confirmed her suspicions.

“It’s me.” Lily spoke into the receiver, her watery smile spanning from ear to ear. Damsel looked distinctly uncomfortable to be witnessing the start of the exchange, and Mary mirrored her sentiment for different reasons.

Even in a room with Damsel and Lily, she felt alone.

Mary gave Lily a little wave of farewell before exiting the bedroom. Damsel followed, closing the door behind her.

“You going to talk about what happened? Both of you are jumpy as hell, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“The kuei-jin are trying to figure out the best way to kill us.” Mary replied hastily, trying to focus on the music to give her some tether to reality, the lyrics _‘running in the shadows’_ hitting her much differently in unlife. “I’m trying to forget the rest.”

If Damsel could go any paler, she would have. “ _Fuck_.” she swore, immediately turning to retrieve her laptop from the floor. “How much do they know?”

“Enough.” Mary answered - _fire, so much fire -_ and she was at the door to the apartment before she realized what she was doing.

“Shit’s going to hit the fan.” Damsel muttered to herself, already typing at speed. “I’m going to be making calls for the next week.” She didn’t notice Mary opening the door, nor her departure.

Shutting out the music filled her with some regret, but Mary was relieved to stand in the quiet hallway. Rain trickled down the single window at the end of the hall, and something in Mary pulled her to the stairwell. The concrete steps were cool underfoot as she ascended, recalling the loft and its massive windows, the doorway that led out onto the balcony - the promise of rain.

There wasn’t enough water in the world to wash away what she’d been through, but perhaps if she sat in the rain long enough she could forget what the flames felt like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter might be the reason I started this fic, don't worry my dears you will have a lovely reprieve shortly. <3


	19. The Loft II

Up Mary climbed, ending her night in stark contrast to how she ended so many previously - crawling down into the gutter. Strangely enough, moving upwards felt just as safe as hiding below. Any distance she could put between herself and the street was good for her.

Memory of her last visit to the loft lapped at her ankles like the tide on the shore. The argument with Nines, her own despair at realizing he knew what she was _before_ and could see how far she had fallen, how twisted she’d become. Only a handful of hours before she’d seen her naked reflection, more monster than human. More horrible than any Kindred she’d seen, stripped of all humanity.

_Yet he’d danced with her._

Mary clung to that thought like a lifeline, letting it tug her up the steps. At last she reached the final landing, the solitary door to the loft her only other company on the small concrete platform. It stood like a marble monolith, pale and flat. She took in a deep breath before turning the handle.

It was dark, but not as dark as she remembered. Mary quietly shut the door behind her and whatever light from the hall beyond spilled in through it, allowing her eyes to adjust to the change. Yes, there was light spilling into the loft apartment, but not from any lamps.

The large curtains over the floor-to-ceiling windows of the front of the space were tugged open where the door to the balcony outside sat, letting in the faint pink-orange glow of the city beyond. Mary’s posture stiffened, and she made her way across the living room’s wooden floor to see if whoever had trespassed still remained. Part of her wondered if Gary had managed to track her down and was intent on giving her his information quickly - a darker part fretted that the Sabbat had discovered her. Or worse - the Camarilla truly did know where her heart lay, and their patience with her had worn thin.

Would they start a war over it?

 _No war would be fought over your death._ A voice in her head answered her own question, the same voice that she’d roared with before snapping into cartilage several hours before. _No one would miss you. You can’t trust them._

Paranoia was her closest friend in these latest nights. Mary took comfort that her form was masked, steeling her nerves as she neared the gap in the curtains.

The door was flecked with droplets of rain, each catching and sparkling from the street lights below and passing cars of the freeway. Wrought iron beyond shone in the rain, the balcony giving a hint as to the building’s true age. All of what she saw soon became immaterial, for a much more important sight grabbed her attention.

There was someone on the balcony, and it wasn’t Gary.

Mary stopped in her tracks when the light of a passing semi truck below lit the trespasser’s face.

Nines.

He hadn’t seen her. Instead he stood in the rain - more a mist now than anything - his attention focused squarely on the city stretching out before him. Mary crept closer to the door, a voyeur - she could make out bruises on his face, blood staining his blue shirt. She hadn’t seen him since Hollywood, and found that the sight of him made her nearly want to cry - from relief, from shame. He looked tired, but at peace. He looked like the man she remembered, not the figurehead, not the political leader. In that moment, Nines Rodriguez stood as himself.

_The man who’d kissed her._

For an entire minute she stood still, watching him - considering whether or not to leave and return to the gutter she belonged in.

Mary was bad at staying where she belonged.

The human mask she wore made it easier to reach out for the wrought iron door handle, her hands soft and whole and lacking their wicked claws. Rusty hinges caused the door to cry out when she opened it, and the calm that surrounded Nines was broken.

From the increased tension in his form she knew he was ready to fight, but the sight of her paralyzed him. Mary had expected him to smile, to relax the way Lily did when she didn’t have to look at her cursed form anymore. She hadn’t expected the look of raw fear on his face.

“Hey.” she began, breaking the silence and stepping out on the balcony. The air was cool and humid, carrying the clean scent of the world after the rain. “Sorry to startle you. I didn’t know you were here. It’s, um. Me.”

“Mary.” Nines collected himself, though she could see he was battling something judging from the twitch in his jaw and the way his eyes didn’t seem to know where to look.

Uncertainty suddenly laced through her, and she looked down at herself. “How’d I do?” she ventured with a weak smile, trying to ease the tension.

It didn’t work, judging by the worried confusion on his face. “How… how’d you do at what?”

Mary gestured at herself, mirroring his confusion - somehow he’d looked more frightened to see her as a human than he ever did to see her as a vampire. “Looking like how I used to.”

“Pretty close.” Nines answered thickly, gesturing for her to come closer. Mary left the doorway and approached him, but stopped a few feet short - she could sense the way he stiffened as she came closer, and fear bubbled up in her throat. Still, she couldn’t move away - for his eyes made contact with hers, searching for something she couldn’t name.

Whatever was happening, it was causing him stress - stressing her in turn. “What’s wrong?”

Nines cleared his throat, visibly trying to hold onto his composure as tightly as she held onto her mask. “It’s pretty close.” he repeated. “But it’s not you.” He swallowed. “Your eyes. They’re the biggest thing.”

For a moment she wanted to tell him that it _was_ her, that the appearance she projected was what she was comfortable with and what she identified with - but in that same moment Mary realized that it really _wasn’t_. In the short time she had before she realized what it meant to be a Nosferatu in Kindred society, she found herself almost liking it.

So she kept quiet, thinking about what he had said. It wasn’t a clear critique or explanation, but when he mentioned her eyes all she could think of was Velvet. _The Nosferatu with the sad eyes,_ Velvet had called her. Velvet had called Nines’ eyes sad too - and they _were_ , silver blue and colorless save for the lights of the city he’d called home reflected in them. Mary was no happier in her current form than she’d been without. Safer, maybe, more comfortable, maybe, but there was no escaping the memory of what she’d done that night. There was no escaping the knowledge that if the two of them remained where they stood when the sun came up they’d burn to ashes. Sadness was not what was missing from her.

_What, then, was?_

“Gary says it’d be easier if I had video of me from before. Or a picture. I guess my memory’s off.” Mary mumbled, trying to explain herself. “Still, it’s better, isn’t it?” Anything was better than what she was, better than the withered creature built to kill and nothing more.

“You’re prettier.” Nines admitted. “But not better.”

Disbelief clouded her features. “People scream if they see the me you’re talking about.” Mary replied, scowling. “How is that better?”

“It’s you.” Nines said, the raw honesty of it as shocking as a bucket of cold water. “Your eyes haven’t changed.”

Mary stared at him. He _preferred_ the monster, and she’d think he was lying to her if it wasn’t for how genuinely distressed he seemed to be to see her as she was. It wasn’t fear he was looking at her with now, however, but concern - his eyes studying hers. Tension still hummed in his shoulders.

After a moment of hesitation Mary exhaled, letting the Mask drop from her, opening herself up for exposure. Soft porcelain skin melted away into tight cracked leather, gentle hands returning to claws. Again she was made dimly aware of her own mess of teeth on her face, felt how limply her clothes hung on her bony form. Her throat tightened, knowing what horrors her hands had wrought that night.

Nines, however, visibly relaxed - his eyes softened to see hers laid bare again. The feeling was contagious - perhaps she was desperate for reassurance, for something to hold to, a distraction from her own mind. Mary wanted to look at herself the way he did - and wished the world would do the same.

Still, continued observance made her skin prickle. Even under his gaze, exposure wasn’t comfortable. To her relief he seemed to know it, to pick up on the way she shrunk from view - how she took a few steps back from him, unwilling to subject him to the sight of her so near. He looked back out at the city and changed the subject.

“Saw you come in, didn’t know it was you.” His voice was low, and tired. “Took until Damsel texted me to know. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll go.”

“Don’t.” Mary said, far more quickly than she’d wanted, far too desperately. Nines only looked relieved to hear it. She hurried on, as if she could make him forget how she said it with more words. “When did Damsel let you know?”

“A few minutes after you left.” he shrugged. “You’ve got a habit of up and disappearing.” From the smile he cast her, he didn’t hold it against her. “Damsel’s kept me informed when you come in, but I was starting to figure you didn’t want to talk to me. It’s alright if you don’t.”

“I do.” Uncertainty from him was something new, and she wondered what had him so afraid. “It’s just… it’s been a hell of a week.”

“Heard you went to Chinatown.” The unsaid passed between them - he knew what that area of Los Angeles meant, even if he didn’t know the details.

Mary turned to look out to the city with him, her hands wrapping around the wrought iron rail and holding tightly to center herself. She was high above, she was far away, she was safe. The loft had provided her shelter when she was a human in need - now she tried to convince herself it could do the same in unlife.

Nines didn’t question her further on what had happened, instead addressing the other elephant in the room. “Who’s the girl?"

“A thin blood. I promised her boyfriend I’d find her for him, back in Santa Monica.” Mary put a little more distance between them, still aware of her new form - and somehow worried she’d overstepped, despite Damsel’s assurances. "Are you mad?"

To her surprise, he smiled - warmer than any sunlight. "No. I'm proud."

That odd flutter in her chest returned with a vengeance. She smiled back, a little more confidently. “Those kids deserve to be happy.” A pause. “Lily might take a little time. Chinatown was bad.” Mary didn’t elaborate further. To admit she frenzied, to Nines of all people - she couldn’t take his disappointment.

“Mary.” Nines said gently, waving her over. “You don’t have to stand so far back. This isn’t a Camarilla salon.”

She’d spent weeks staying six feet apart from people, whether through her own conscious effort or the subconscious of those she spent time around. Even around Damsel and Lily she couldn’t quite escape it - and she’d tried to take some comfort in it to cope. Space was safety, security - and yet her hands uncoiled from around the railing, slipping back down to her sides. Mary closed the distance between them and rested her hip against the railing at his side. There was only a foot or so of space between them, but he didn’t mind - to the contrary, it seemed to soothe him.

It soothed her too. No, it did more than that - but she wasn’t willing to follow the path the bloom of new emotions created before her. Instead she focused on the sight of the city before her, trying to look at it with Nines’ eyes. Trying to look at it as home. The alleys and streets of downtown, Santa Monica’s wide avenues and beaches, Hollywood with its glamour and darkness. The people within it, their idiosyncrasies, personalities born of life amidst millions, a culture used to performance but beneath it all people working desperately to make a life for themselves.

“I mean it.” Nines broke the silence again - she was close enough to him to hear the secondary vibration of his voice in his ribs, the low bassy hum. “I’m proud. People made a lot of assumptions about you, and you’ve fucked most of them over.” His head was turned to the city, but she could see him glancing over at her in his periphery. “You haven’t lost your soul in the process either. Hard path to take.”

It drew forth a choked noise from her at the mention of losing her soul. Mary saw his hand raise reflexively, moving toward her but pausing inches away when she shook her head. “People would call what I’ve done weakness. A lot of hiding. Not much fighting.” Her voice cracked on the last word, causing him to wince in sympathy.

Still, he did not pry. “Wouldn’t be surprised if a few of my people did.” He hummed in acknowledgement. “But war can only get us so far. We have to live with ourselves after.” He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing deeply before opening them once more. “Looks like it’ll happen again.” He turned his head to look at her properly. “I’m glad to have you on side. You’re more important than you know.”

Mary didn’t know what he meant by it - logic dictated it had something to do with the odd confidence LaCroix placed in her, or the messy circumstances of her Embrace - but a rawer, more foolish part of her wished he meant something else entirely. “Did you…” she started, that raw emotion breaking free of her repression and taking control of her speech. “... before all of _this_.” she said bitterly, gesturing at her face. “Did you think that it’d ever - that I’d ever - be important?”

Every word she practically tripped over, and yet still he didn’t seem to mind. “I knew you’d go far.” he replied. “Even when you were chowing down on pizza and using one of those hundred resumes you got me to print out as a place mat.”

It got her to smile again, and he beamed in response. Mary recalled the time and all the surrealness it offered - her, human and seeking a job, taking shelter amidst _Kindred_ and somehow not knowing the truth, inadvertently asking the leader of the city’s Anarchs to figure out a photocopier for her. “Damsel said you were scared of computers. I should’ve told her you took down the copy machine okay.”

Nines chuckled, but it trailed off into melancholy. When he continued, his voice was quiet again. “I… was scared, at first, when I realized what happened.” The admission of vulnerability was enough to draw Mary a little closer - here he was genuine, here he was able to admit to feeling fear. “Angry, too, but anger’s an old friend.” He shook his head. “I knew you’d go far, but I thought I’d see you blowing the whistle on something, or making big changes in the human world. Not this.” His smile returned, and she watched his eyes dart across her face again, now unable to keep himself from looking at her. “It didn’t stop you, though. You’ve kept climbing. Made your own change. Helped a lot of people when you didn’t have to. You haven’t stopped moving.”

Mary looked up at him shyly from beneath her lashes, sparse as they were. “There wasn’t anything else I could do. I haven’t done much besides be ordered around.” Suddenly she was aware of their proximity, of their nearness - and fear laced through her again. Fear that she was reading into things out of desperation, fear that she was presuming too much, and she clawed for some sort of plausible deniability - something to remind her that whatever warm daydreams of the future were growing in her heart were just that. Daydreams. “I’m a Camarilla errand girl, remember?”

“And a spy.” Nines added, the gentle smile on his face unfaltering. “LaCroix needs you too much to let you go.”

“Has a bad way of showing it.” she muttered. “He always looks like he’s going to be sick when I’m around.” Again, she grappled for some way to remind herself not to feel the warmth she did at his smile. “I’m surprised you can stand being this close.”

“Typical Ventrue.” He scoffed. “I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I’ve seen real ugliness in this world, Mary.” To her surprise, he placed his right hand on her shoulder, his fingers lacing between the spikes rising out of it. “You aren’t it.”

Touch. Mary didn’t flinch away from it this time, the brush of his calloused palms against the cracked skin of her shoulder giving her chills. She almost closed her eyes on reflex - she’d missed it, missed _him_.

There were times in her life that she knew were meaningful the moment they occurred, moments that felt like history she lived through. All of such moments she could remember ended poorly, held a sense of doom hanging overhead - but all she felt was her nerves lighting up, a tremor starting in her. The lack of dread scared her on its own, and she made one last effort at making things the way she thought they had to be - the way they always were. Mary looked down at the wrought iron of the balcony below her feet and whispered. “You don’t have to lie.”

Then his hand was under her chin, tipping her face back up to look at his. She froze, and slowly his palm spread, cupping the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “It’s not a lie.” he said gently, barely a breath but enough to pass in the small space between them. “You’re not human, sure. But neither am I. Neither of us have forgotten what it was like.”

Her eyes snapped to his, her own wide and nearly fearful. This was something more than his hand on her shoulder, than reassuring nudges or him lifting her up out of the gutter. She wanted to feel it forever. Where the moments she’d spent with him as a human had been comfort, and their dance together joy, his hand on her face was something else entirely. Something ground shaking. Intimate.

Mary tried to remember the last time anyone had touched her in such a way, and amidst the daze she found herself in recalled that it was Nines, too, in the brief night they shared when her heart still beat. It was Nines, always Nines, who made her believe that perhaps, perhaps…

She tipped her head into his hand, as if trying to nestle herself better against him, smiling into his touch. The city glistened beyond them, lights softened by the mist suspended in the air. The moment seemed to stretch forever.

There was just the barest movement, his head starting to dip toward hers. It was slow enough that she could recognize what was happening even as her mind rushed with excuses as to how it _wasn’t_ what she wanted it to be, then how it _couldn’t_ be, he was making a mistake, it was a trick, it was -

A car door slammed shut several floors below, the sound echoing up from the street. Mary was startled enough to visibly flinch.

Nines let his hands drop from her immediately, looking apologetic and just as dazed as she was. It was Mary’s turn to change the subject, his turn to be allowed escape - she looked over the railing to see a familiar figure walking up to their apartment building, the cab they’d come from driving away. Nines found his voice, speaking in the aloof tone she recognized from The Last Round, before he knew who she was. A mask of his own.

“Someone you know?”

“It’s E.” Mary replied. “He must’ve started on his way here the second Lily called him.”

“Kid’s got a deathwish.” Nines observed. “Sun’ll be up soon.” Sure enough, the night sky had gone from black to deep navy and was growing more blue by the minute. E had cut it close.

“Some things are worth the risk.” Mary said quietly.

There was a beat of silence between them before Nines spoke again. “I’ve gotta be on the other side of the city tomorrow night.” There it was - his exit. Their meetings felt too short, brief glimmers of happiness in a sea of the dark. Yet he wasn’t looking at the road anymore - he was looking at her hands, shaking. “This place is closer to where I gotta be than my haven is. Should’ve asked Damsel if there was any space.”

Slowly Mary realized he was giving her a choice - leaving her an opening, to welcome or dismiss him. Choice wasn’t something she was often offered - most paths given to her were equally dangerous and equally hopeless.

Before she could think too hard about it, she answered him. “I don’t mind if you crash here. I mean -” Mary glanced back at the door. “- it’s your place, I guess.”

“As much mine as yours.” Nines retorted, but his easy smile returned - his tone returning back to the soft way he normally spoke, not the affected strength of a man expected to lead. He walked past her toward the door. “Thanks. I’ll pull up a couch.” While he pulled the door open, he did not enter the loft - instead he gestured for her to enter, wearing a cheeky grin. “Ladies first.”

Mary dipped her head but couldn’t hide the wide smile the remark prompted. “Old man.” she teased, following him to the door. She paused at the threshold, aware of how the remaining vitae in her veins seemed to tingle, flowing through her in a rush as the reality of the situation settled over her. He’d stay the night. Innocent enough - downright chaste, compared to what the denizens of LA and Kindred in general engaged in - but for her, and for what she knew of Nines, the concept meant something. It was a rush unlike any other, one she’d only felt…

_Her back was to the kitchen counter. He asked her what she wanted, and she said **him** , and she marveled at how soft his lips were upon hers, cold to her warmth -_

“I gotta wash up, but after -” Still a part of her fretted she was overstepping her bounds, even as his eyes lit up. “- you want to see what movies are on? I think we can squeeze one in before sunrise.”

Nines smiled more brightly than she’d ever seen. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Minutes later, when Mary settled herself into the loft’s warm bath and sank under the water to let the trauma of the night soak away from her, she realized she had it bad.

Kindred lived for centuries. Nines had already seen decades more than she had. The time they spent together must have been only the tiniest fraction of his experience. So many people acted as if self-interest was all that a Kindred could have, that trust should be given rarely if at all - and yet in the nights she’d walked she’d seen so much evidence to the contrary. Velvet’s care, Ash’s pain, Isaac’s flawed protectiveness, Mercurio’s kindness, Knox’s optimism, Bertram and Jeanette’s affair, Lily and E’s devotion, Damsel's passion.

Were the nights truly as dark as she thought they were?

The word was dancing in her mind, but she didn’t dare to recognize it. The word that had her fleeing Detroit with an engagement band on her finger, the word that she’d clung to even when she was turned into a prisoner of the person who was supposed to care for her. The word she’d given up on, that she believed just wasn’t meant for her.

Love.

It scared the shit out of her.

Mary sank lower, letting the water flow over her mouth and nose and leaving only the top of her head exposed. She looked at her body, the image distorted by the rippling surface of the water.

Everything she was was meant to repulse. Casimir, Gary - even Ming-Xiao had spoken the truth. Her form was the visual representation of how monstrous it was to be Kindred, bare and blatant honesty as to the horrifying nature of them all. To be Nosferatu was to wear the truth - and have the power to bend it.

She thought she enjoyed the power to hide, the veil she could put up between herself and the world - but on reflection it only served to increase the void between what she was and those who weren’t cursed. Mary saw firsthand how she could be treated, if only someone else had come to her that night so long ago. All she was granted was awareness on what she missed out on, and all the simpering and kinder treatment couldn’t compare to the look in Nines’ eyes when he looked at her as she was, lacking disgust or fear.

He’d seen _real_ ugliness, he said, that she wasn’t it - but he didn’t know what she’d done. He didn’t know that even despite the horror she felt on reflection, in the moment she’d enjoyed tearing humans that hadn’t a hope of fighting her limb from limb.

Mary rose from the tub and dried off, tugging back on the clothes that had been offered to her.

She had to tell Nines. Even if it meant he’d hate her for it.

When she came downstairs from the upper section of the loft she found Nines reclining on one of the couches with his feet up on the coffee table, flipping channels. It was a different posture than she remembered him having when she was human and they did the same ritual - usually he sprawled out on the other couch, lying down upon it and letting her take the other one. Now he made space - and as she neared she realized the empty spot next to him was on the side that wouldn’t have her shoulder spikes brushing against him.

Purposeful, in a casual way - and he didn’t make a move to suggest she sit next to him, the other couch left open. A choice.

Choices were precious.

Mary sat down next to him, but kept a comfortable amount of distance between them. “Find anything good?”

Nines didn’t make a fuss with her settled onto the cushion next to him, simply giving a one-shoulder shrug with the arm that held the remote. “Five am on a weekday? Not much for movies. A couple without Technicolor.” He smirked lopsidedly. “Almost as old as me. Then there’s the shopping network.” Clicking the remote, a woman using a device that looked like it belonged in a medieval torture chamber to easily peel vegetables came on the screen. “I bet Damsel would love to try that out.”

“You should phone in, get her an early Christmas present.”

“Then she’d have to get me something. Have you ever seen Damsel’s gifts?”

“She got me these pants.”

“Exactly.” He was teasing her, and she settled for rolling her eyes at him.

They fell back into a companionable silence. Nines had started flipping channels again and eventually he settled on a western when Mary offered no preference for film.

The two of them slowly sank deeper and deeper into the couch as time passed by, watching black and white figures sprint and shoot their way across the television screen. Even in monochrome Mary got an idea of how bright the sun was, turning the sand cowboys rode on horseback across shining white. It was as generic as films for the time were, more useful in providing the two the ability to decompress and an excuse to withdraw into their own minds.

Mary couldn’t figure out how to broach the subject. What could she do? Tell him she’d turned into a murdering psychopath because she was too stupid to avoid an obvious trap? She looked up at him as if his appearance could provide any answers. It only provided distraction, her gaze lingering on the bruises on his cheek.

“What happened?”

“Hm?” He looked over with a raised brow, more engrossed in the film - or his thoughts - than she was.

“Your face.” Mary touched her own in the places where abrasions were visible on his - a scuff across the cheekbones, a splash of red on the bridge of his nose.

The subject wasn’t an unwelcome one, for he let out a sheepish chuckle. “Oh, that. We were having a Rant back in the bar. They’re Anarch gatherings, mostly a lot of talking.” he explained. “We’ve had a lot of them lately - they’re a good way to get everyone’s opinion, and there’s a lot of opinions in this city.”

“Did one of those opinions punch you in the face?”

“Sure did.”

She blinked. Lucky guess. “Why?”

“People think I’m getting soft.” Nines’ smile faded, and Mary knew it was because he _was_ soft, beneath the armor he wore. Not in a way that meant weakness or passivity, but in a manner that had him feeling things more deeply than he appeared to. Passion was a virtue, but it seemed his was a double edged sword. “I told them to try me. Took a few potence laced punches to the face and stayed standing. Proved my point.” He shifted in his seat as gunshots sounded on the television. “I’ve been doing too much talking and not enough work out there. Leading from the streets is a challenge.”

Mary clasped her hands in front of her. “Is it because of what happened in the theatre?” she asked quietly.

“If anyone thinks I’m soft for standing up for you, I’ll show them what it’s like to be tenderized.” Nines replied sternly. “Nah. You shouldn’t be worrying about me, either way.” From his tone, it was clear that Mary was the one he was worried about.

_No time like the present._

Lacing her fingers together and gripping her hands so tightly her knuckles whitened, Mary finally confessed. “I frenzied. Back in Chinatown.”

A low rumble of understanding came from Nines’ throat, and he stretched his arm across the back of the couch, keeping his posture open. “Figured something went down. First time?”

“Yeah.” Raising her voice above a murmur was difficult, the shame catching in her throat. “There… there was fire. I was burning, and then it was like the rush I got the first time I drank blood. Multiplied. Everything was red, I broke free, and -” Her voice cracked. If she still needed to breathe she’d be gasping for air, already barely able to choke out the words. “- I was an animal. I ran on all fours. I tore into people. I _loved_ it, Nines.”

There was no horror or disgust on his face. Instead he looked exhausted, more than usual - his eyes heavy lidded and tracing mournfully over her face. “That’s the real curse. Knowing what the worst part of you is, all the time. Having it wait just under your skin, ready to tear free the second you slip up. You’re not a monster, Mary.”

All of the pain, trauma, and exhaustion of the night finally overwhelmed her, and Mary slumped forward against him. Nines wrapped his arm around her, not squeezing nor holding tightly, but simply maintaining the body contact. A barrier to the world beyond, a place in which she could feel without judgement. Mary didn’t know how much it all was weighing down upon her until she was able to release it, her face pressed into his chest and dry sobs wracking her body.

Nines didn’t withdraw though she was certain her display must have been embarrassing. Instead he rubbed between her shoulder blades and offered the occasional reassuring hum. When she had calmed, the thin slivers of light shining through the tiny gap in the curtains was pink. Dawn.

“Nines?” she spoke into the silence, feeling the exhaustion in her blood intensifying.

He was still awake. “Mm?”

“Thank you. For staying.”

His lips brushed the top of her head. “Go to sleep, Mary.”

Unconsciousness claimed her with a kiss.

\--

Remaining conscious beyond the dawn burned blood, but Nines was happy to do it for just a few minutes more of awareness. He hadn’t told her how he worried - how unanswered phone calls had become grave tolls in recent years, how he had nearly lost his composure when Damsel told him Mary was off to Chinatown. How the week she was absent had driven him to run the streets, working out his anxiety on Sabbat too foolish to keep to their lairs to keep him from finding Gary Golden himself.

Yet she’d come back, as she always did. Nines knew he shouldn’t have been surprised anymore, shouldn’t have worried - the woman in his arms had more fortitude than she appeared to. More strength than he did.

Nines still didn’t know quite what she thought, didn’t know if her terror was his fault or lingering panic from what she’d witnessed. The little contact he had was more than enough, the knowledge she rested safely all he needed. He didn’t know what he thought either, to tell the truth. Worrying about the details and the abstract didn’t matter. He’d figure them out in time.

All he knew, as he watched the room’s ambient light increase by fractions, was that he wanted her happy. If she could be happy with him, he could ask for nothing else.

In a perfect world, it would be all they needed, but the thin cracks of sunlight reminded him of the dangerous paradox that was existing among the unliving. Beauty, happiness, warmth - all were fleeting, and all were capable of great destruction.

Nines allowed an ember of hope to burn in his chest. Mary had faced bad odds and returned every time.

This time was different.


	20. Grout's Mansion

Nines woke first.

It wasn’t something he was used to - being surrounded by the young and eager whose blood barely had time to cool meant that he was always the slowest to drift to consciousness. Nines blinked sleep from his eyes and tried to glance at his watch for the time.

Eight o’clock. The sun had set just over an hour ago, and yet Mary slept like the dead both of them were. Despite his movement she did not stir from her position nestled into his side.

It was something he’d longed for once upon a time, he realized. Back when her heart still beat he wanted to be able to stay the night, to wake with her in the morning and reassure her that he wasn’t going anywhere. Now he wasn’t sure if it’d scare her off after all - she’d flinched when he touched her. 

If it wouldn’t scare her off, he wasn’t certain that staying by her side wouldn’t be a terrible idea anyways.

With the clarity that a day’s rest offered Nines realized just how much danger he’d put both of them in. Not to mention what discovery by the others would have done - while he trusted the people of The Last Round with his life, not all Anarchs would be so charitable. As far as most of Los Angeles was concerned, Mary was a puppet of LaCroix - and until the Ventrue’s ashes blew in the wind the danger she presented to the cause was obvious.

Nines looked down at her, his fingers tracing the cracks in her skin. The texture was like chipped marble, some parts smooth and cold and others jagged. An asymmetrical form, each inch offering something unexpected - he grinned at how suitable it seemed for who she was. Perhaps his affection for her colored his vision, but her visage was one he didn’t mind looking at.

Affection.

If they were caught as they were, it could mean doom for them both.

Time to leave.

Carefully he slipped his arm out from under her and gently guided her head down to the couch. Still she did not stir, not even as he crossed the loft’s creaking wooden floorboards to reach the front door. As his fingers brushed the handle, he looked back at her over his shoulder, and made a promise to himself that echoed the foolishness of youth.

If she returned to the loft by the end of the night, he’d be there.

\---

Mary was alone when she awoke.

Her sleep had been blissful, healing - when she opened her eyes she felt an optimism for the night, but the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood had her wondering with no small sense of anxiety why its owner had departed.

It was silly, perhaps selfish. Nines had plenty to keep him busy, and had chosen to spend the day by her side. What time she was granted was precious, nothing to set aside - and yet doubt gnawed at her. Now that she had acknowledged her feelings for him, she could no longer run from the worries that came with it. Mary was no longer blind - with love came fear at the best of times, and she was not foolish enough to pretend hers had any hope of reciprocation.

Life as Kindred was hell - Mary decided she’d take the purgatory she found herself in instead.

Pushing herself up off the couch, she turned her nervous energy into action. Nines doubtless had work to do - and so did she. LaCroix’s expectations still weighed upon her shoulders, she still had her chains, and the suffering she’d endured in Chinatown wasn’t for nothing. Gary awaited.

Mary nearly tripped over her pant leg as she made for the door. Looking down at herself - and the pajama bottoms Damsel had lent her - she added a detour to her trip to Hollywood to get a new set of clothes.

The digital clock on the stove read 9 PM, giving her a shock. She’d slept in late. Time was short.

The apartment building was silent save for her footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and she was struck by how the world kept turning without her. Mary was split between longing for activity and being thankful for the lack of eyes, forever lingering between a desire to connect and a desire to hide.

After the night she’d had, she was leaning firmly toward making contact.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Mary had left the apartment building and made her way to the alley near The Last Round and the sewer entrance it held, but as she turned the corner she found herself face to face with Gary Golden himself.

“Boo.”

Experience had turned her startle reflex into a flash of her claws, but Gary was agile enough to dodge them. He laughed - a gurgling, wheezing sound - while Mary collected her wits about her.

“I was just on my way to Hollywood.” she scowled.

“Dressed like that? You won’t find yourself on many VIP lists, boss.” Gary scolded, his nostrils subtly flaring. Intrigue colored his expression, dead eyes positively glimmering. “You smell different. Gunpowder, denim, and…” 

“Anarch.” Mary admitted, trying to keep the heat of embarrassment from her voice. “I crashed with them for the day. Chinatown was a fucking disaster, by the way. Thanks for asking.” She only succeeded in turning the heat in her voice to that of anger.

“Careful, boss - that Anarch temper is starting to rub off on you.” Gary replied cheekily. “I knew you’d come out of Chinatown alive, there’s no need to yell at old Gary. You’ve got a favor you want from me, after all.”

Mary sighed, but remained quiet.

“Good girl.” The primogen chirped. “Barabus came back in one piece and had quite the tale to tell. Figured I’d find you here. I’ll save you the trip to Hollywood so you can skip your way down to LaCroix - I’d try to get the stink of Anarch off of you first. Friendly tip.” He smiled, and Mary thought she saw a worm wiggle between his teeth before he continued. “Yes, we found LaCroix’s sarcophagus - but he wasn’t the only one paying for info. Unfortunately for him - and _tragically_ for you, the Giovanni took action first. Real entrepreneurs.”

Her scowl turned to a frown of confusion. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“Spaghetti and corpses, boss.” Gary’s smile seemed more akin to a baring of teeth than a congenial expression. “A clan made of a family, bound in blood figuratively and literally. Lucky for you old Gary’s found out they’re having a family reunion in a week. All you have to do is waltz on in and get your little Prince his box back.”

There was something he wasn’t telling her - she could tell by the way his amusement echoed his feelings in the warrens, when he merrily sent her off to Chinatown. Another suicide mission wasn’t appealing. “How could they beat the Prince to it? Are they more powerful than the Camarilla?”

“Let’s just say that they aren’t bound by any rules. They’re not Sabbat, little rat, but they’ve done things that’d make a Bishop blush.” Gary winked. “You’ve got the Mask now, it should be child’s play for one of the clan. Don’t embarrass us, now.” He reached out and pinched her cheek, and Mary felt another flare of her temper.

Antagonizing her entertained him, that much was clear - but she found that there was less menace in it than she thought, given his next words.

“I’ll even give you a hint. Get yourself an invitation, and look for a library. Tremere and Giovanni both like to keep their secrets by their books. Now, don’t let me keep you - I’m sure the Prince has heard about your little Chinatown adventure by now. Stop by Hollywood and let me know if he’s worn a hole in the floor from pacing when you’re done, will you?”

Mary opened her mouth to reply, but a car passing on the street behind drew her attention. When she looked back, Gary was gone.

Primogen of the Nosferatu. She should have known.

“That went well.” she murmured to herself, lifting up the manhole cover to the sewers. One pit stop to make herself somewhat presentable to LaCroix, and one week until she could retrieve the sarcophagus and finally wiggle free of her leash.

So she hoped.

\--

Troubles were grains of sand, and each night he inherited a desert.

It had begun with a letter in code from Ming-Xiao - she had agreed to his plan, on one condition. His fledgling had put a wrench in her own plans, and she wanted blood in payment.

Blood was happily given.

If there was one thing in his existence that LaCroix was certain of, however, it was that fortune and luck rarely smiled upon him. Every inch of it he fought for, every bit of ground he’d clawed for himself. A lesson he learned in life that carried on into undeath.

When he was informed that the San Diego Nosferatu had gone silent entirely, he knew the night would turn into a sandstorm. The city’s Baron-come-Prince had little information to offer him, and rumors abounded that the Sabbat had begun their first push across the border.

Others spoke of the end times, and in his heart LaCroix had begun to wonder. His worries were a secret to all but his Sheriff.

A salon had to be called, nevertheless, and he was reminded of why he held so little for one of his position while the city’s primogen argued amongst themselves. LaCroix reclined in his chair with a hand at his temple while tempers flared around him. The Brujah primogen - a man with a thrice-broken nose who’d turned on the city’s Anarchs the moment San Diego was lost - was calling for Gary’s head. The primogen for Toreador spoke words of caution through cherry painted lips, but seemed eager for blood nevertheless.

It was the representative for Ventrue who was the first to dissent. “Any attempt on the Nosferatu is suicide. We know this. Even if our hand _was_ forced, to act without Grout’s insight would result in disaster.”

The Malkavian primogen was not forgotten, and for once LaCroix was thankful his clan’s representative had such value for the often tangled visions of the Malkavians. 

It was met by silence from the others. None of them returned the feeling, all of them had suspicion at best and derision at worst for Grout and his kin. LaCroix knew this, planned for it, and the next words of his clanmate started to set the dominoes in motion.

“Grout has been missing from our gatherings for two fortnights, now. We worry of San Diego’s disappearances when we have one among our own.”

Another spat of murmurs resulted, variations on the same sentiment - Grout was a madman, like all of his ilk, likely scared of his own shadow. Nothing to worry about.

Strauss’ eyes were watchful behind his tinted spectacles. No doubt clan Tremere had their own suspicions, but they were kept close to his chest. LaCroix tried not to dwell on the mage - once his plan was in motion, even thaumaturgy could not save Strauss if he tried to stab him in the back.

The attempt would be made if he slipped up, that much LaCroix was certain of.

He learned that lesson in New York.

“There is a culprit you’ve not yet considered, in both of those missing.” Strauss spoke at last, when there was a lull amidst the arguing. The other primogen were silenced, a reminder that his influence was dangerously strong. “The Prince of San Diego has been battered by the Kuei-Jin.”

“Wan Kuei.” Beckett raised his voice from the bookshelf he lingered by, lighting a spark of annoyance in LaCroix’s mind. The scholar was happy to be aloof and useless when matters were dire, but could not stand to miss a chance to insist on semantics.

Strauss paid him no mind. “She does not have the luxury of a truce. With weakening influence come the jackals, as we all know. The Free State is still a fresh memory.”

LaCroix narrowed his eyes, but remained silent. If Strauss was making a subtle attempt at shifting power, he was playing right into his hands.

“Nosferatu are rats.” The Brujah primogen sneered. “They wouldn’t throw in with the Anarchs. They play for the winning team.”

“Perhaps they have reason to believe San Diego’s Camarilla no longer qualify.” Strauss tipped his head. “They are growing bold. They’ve caused a plague in our own city - this with strong Camarilla representation and their own numbers decimated.”

“I trust you have a point, Strauss.” LaCroix interjected at last - pleased to see the collective’s eyes dart toward him. He still held their attention.

“The Anarchs of this city have been treated with tolerance - out of necessity, of course.” Strauss continued, clasping his hands neatly in front of him. “The Camarilla has had to rebuild what the Anarchs have burnt. Given recent developments in San Diego, I worry that perhaps our tolerance has made their ‘organization’ bold. Not merely bold enough to persuade San Diego’s Nosferatu to their cause - bold enough to repeat history.”

“Maximillian, you can’t possibly-” Toreador’s primogen began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“The Court of Thorns is not so faded a memory. Murdering elders has been part of the Anarch identity from the beginning. I hope I am mistaken, but our dear Alistair would provide a tempting target.”

Another round of tittering.

“Regardless of what has taken place -” Strauss continued. “ - the fact that such a hypothesis cannot be discarded outright is a sign that perhaps by sparing the rod we have spoiled the child.”

A precarious position to be put in, and LaCroix was reminded that centuries separated he and the Regent. Strauss shied away from the position of Prince, but seemed intent on undermining him nevertheless. LaCroix was well aware that by certain definitions his treatment of the Anarchs could be considered downright kind. In New York opposing the Camarilla was a guaranteed death sentence, a sentiment echoed by many other strongholds. 

To echo them was dangerous with Rodriguez on the field, however. LaCroix knew it, and Strauss certainly knew it - Rodriguez was careful to toe the line, a guardian to his people, and charismatic. Any unprovoked action, any tightening of the leash, and they threatened war. War they weren’t guaranteed to win. Loss would send LaCroix to the proverbial guillotine.

Strauss was trying to put him in an unwinnable position. Risking the lost confidence of the Camarilla, or his body on the Anarch’s pyre - or worse, diablerie at the hands of the rabble.

A cunning play. One that LaCroix would twist to his advantage. The letter he’d received would make sure of that.

“Your worries are not unfounded.” LaCroix conceded, and he’d admire Strauss’ composure if the man wasn’t intent on putting him on the chopping block. “If matters worsen, or Prince Tierney offers further illumination, action will be taken.”

Strauss dipped his head and offered a polite smile - beaming on the inside, LaCroix was certain. “A prudent decision.”

The others (save Beckett, who seemed to be absorbed in another one of the tomes LaCroix provided him) tittered their approval. Simpering sycophants, desperate to hold onto their position. A necessary evil.

Mercifully, there was a knock at the door - the familiar pattern of his ghoul, Beaumont. 

“Come in.” LaCroix called, the tittering silenced.

Beaumont - a business student LaCroix had picked up in the 80s, frozen in his early twenties - entered and gave a short bow. To uneducated eyes the action was smooth and graceful enough, but LaCroix could see the slight curve to his back, the slight pause. Sloppy. 

Youth.

“Sir. The fledgling is here.”

LaCroix hid his excitement - yes, things were coming together - and cast the primogen collected around him an apologetic look.

“I’ll waste no more of your time. Your input has been illuminating.” he said politely, and was grateful they all had the wherewithal to take a hint. LaCroix turned his attention back to Beaumont, whose pulse quickened at so many powerful Kindred trailing past. “Send her in.”

“Yes, sir.” Beaumont bowed again and went for the door.

Beckett still lingered. LaCroix cleared his throat.

With a great sigh, the scholar closed the old tome he was engrossed in and set it on a table near the collection of couches. “If you insist. I wouldn’t have to darken your doorstep if you let me take some of these texts with me - I’ve never returned one late, you know.”

“No, Beckett.” LaCroix waved his hand, and Beckett walked to the door just as the fledgling entered.

She was less hideous than usual, the Prince noted - offered the opportunity to study her as she paused to glance over at Beckett. Gary must have taught her some of the ways of their clan, for her guise was human. LaCroix was surprised to see her settled on such a plain guise - most went for crafted appearances that rivalled Toreador. Curious. At least she didn’t inflict her true visage on him out of spite. Gary so loved to do so. 

Her posture was still the same, however - she still jutted her shoulders forward as if trying to shrink from everything before her, still angled her body to use the spikes growing from her shoulder to ward others away. His long smothered conscience still had life in it for him to feel the slightest fraction of pity - somewhere in the fog of history, he’d held the same posture. Felt the same fear.

This time the tables turned. This time he was the one in control. Never again would he stand where she stood.

Beckett tilted his head toward her as he passed, a reassuring smile on his features. “Mary.” he greeted, but did not break his stride.

LaCroix waited until the door was shut to speak.

“Ah, Mary. I trust you have something to tell me.” The next moments were critical, and he was desperately trying to keep from fidgeting in his chair. Disdain was the mask he defaulted to, but it would harm his plans. LaCroix glanced at his Sheriff - ever watchful - for encouragement. Just the sight of the man was enough to calm him, reassured that no matter what he was protected. LaCroix put on his most welcoming face and gestured for the fledgling to come closer. “Have a seat, please.”

Mary did as she was told, setting on an armchair a few meters from where he sat. For once her clothing was clean - she was garbed in black, clothing sleek and skintight. Her leather coat had a sleeve torn off, likely for the spikes that protruded from her shoulder. With her human guise and shoulder bare, it looked odd. “I know where the sarcophagus is.”

LaCroix couldn’t keep his body from tensing, couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward ever-so-slightly in his chair. “Excellent. Was Gary forthcoming?”

“I had to do him a favor first.” The fledgling swallowed, and he knew it had something to do with her meddling in Ming-Xiao’s affairs.

“A crucial part of being Kindred.” LaCroix said idly, trying to throw her off of how desperately he desired to know what she’d discovered. “Where is the sarcophagus?”

“The Giovanni have it.” Mary said quickly, looking as if she expected him to shout at her. She added just as hastily; “It’s not all bad. They’re having a family reunion in a week - Gary says if I snag an invite, infiltrating the place should be easy.” 

Part of his jaw twitched. There it was - the reason for the American branch of the clan to have gathered in Los Angeles. With his plans so close to fruition, of course the hounds would still nip at his heels. Hounds immune to whatever pull he had. Details were few, but what knowledge Gary had granted him spoke of a patriarch that would give even his Sheriff a run for his money.

LaCroix hummed, thinking. Gary was correct - the best approach was infiltration, and if the Sewer Rats could be trusted one of them would be ordered en route before Mary left his office. The entire affair was Gary’s fault, however - but LaCroix always had a talent for turning curses into boons.

Perhaps this was how Ming-Xiao would have her blood.

“Your initiative is noted.” LaCroix said, trying to add some warmth to his tone. “I’ll see to it that my people get you an invitation. Obtaining the sarcophagus is paramount to the safety of this city.” 

“What happens when it’s in safe hands?” Mary asked cautiously - he saw her eyes dart to the door. Doubtless she was eager to be free of his demands, and judging by his intel he could guess whose arms she’d be running to if he let her go.

Fitting, then, what he was about to do. “We’ll be able to enact some law and order onto this city at last.” LaCroix’s answer didn’t reassure her, but he couldn’t afford to care. Her lifespan could be measured in weeks, now. “I have a task for you while you wait.”

Mary placed her hands in her lap - he could sense their quiver. “Yes?”

“No doubt you saw the Kindred leaving as you arrived. They’re the city’s primogen - representatives of the Camarilla clans. They’ve come to me with a concern.” The lie was effortless, flavored by his trademark sense of boredom. Frame anything as a simple errand, a fool’s task, and suspicion could be smothered in its bed. “Alistair Grout is the primogen for Clan Malkavian. He has been missing for nearly a month. Are you familiar with the clan?”

The fledgling merely nodded, strands of dark hair falling across her face. Such disorder had him tempted to reach out and brush them back into place before he recalled what lay beneath her illusory exterior. 

“Then you know he’s likely under some delusion. Still, the primogen are worried, and so…” LaCroix made a show of heaving an annoyed sigh. “It should be child’s play for you. He has a house in the Hollywood hills - I’ll have my driver drop you off. All you have to do is find out if he’s still alive. With your talents I suspect you’ll have little issue.”

“Yes, sir.” It didn’t cut the suspicion from her eyes, and LaCroix felt some grief that she was too dangerous to mentor. They had more in common than she knew. 

“I’ll ring the garage. Take the elevator to the parking level - but do keep up your Mask. No reason to cause unnecessary distress.”

Those large eyes of hers were downcast, now staring at the floor.

“You’re dismissed.”

Mary didn’t look at him again - instead rising from her seat and scurrying back to the door of his office like the rats that doubtlessly kept her company. Only when she shut the door did LaCroix relax, practically melting into the couch he sat upon.

“Tell me I haven’t dreamed this.” he exhaled, pleased at how smoothly things were moving.

“It is true.” His Sheriff replied, posted as ever by the windows - the most vulnerable part of the office.

“Let us pray this isn’t another New York.” LaCroix murmured. The Sheriff only grunted in response.

\--

LaCroix’s driver was a woman with cheekbones so sharp Mary wondered if they could cut glass - and she felt a twist in her gut at having a small amount of insight into just how many ghouls the Prince had under his thumb. 

How many of them would be left dead or worse if the Anarch’s vision succeeded?

There wasn’t too much time to dwell on it, for she was quickly escorted to a sleek black limousine that would look perfectly at home in the Hollywood Hills. The driver held the door to the passenger area open for her, and Mary slipped in to utter luxury.

Her palms met smooth leather, sleek and cool. The interior smelled of leather, a masculine prestige hanging about it. Bottles in shelves set into the far door caught the soft red light illuminating the interior, gleaming even more crimson. Mary wondered if they had blood, and took one in hand. The consistency within was too fluid - that of wine, not blood. Not that she’d have permission to drink even if it _was_ blood.

Instead she settled for sitting near one of the tinted windows and watching the traffic pass them by. Traffic lights and street lamps blew past them, the driver navigating the streets with practised speed and efficiency. Mary could feel her blood reserves draining, but was thankful she made the decision to spare LaCroix’s eyes by drawing her mask about her. She needed every bit of goodwill she could get.

With each passing streetlight she was granted a glimpse of her reflection in the shadowed glass - but this time it didn’t feel reassuring. Nines’ words had stuck with her. The mask wasn’t her, and she knew it. What she truthfully was disgusted most, but the few who hadn’t flinched from her gave her a sense of euphoria she could not describe.

Mary couldn’t help but think of him as downtown turned to Hollywood, concrete jungle shifting to palm trees and villas. Time granted her the belief that however intense her own feelings were, there was no way they could be reciprocated. Nines was charismatic, easy to love, a man who cared deeply for his people - in the brotherly sense. It was something even Bertram had to admit, common knowledge among the denizens of LA. Perhaps she’d just been foolish and desperate enough to read into things far deeper than they were.

The darker voice within her posited that perhaps it was what Nines had planned all along. He had her heart, hook line and sinker, and if he knew it? Then he knew there were few things he could ask her to do that she would refuse. Her animal nature longed to rebel, to spite it.

Mary was jolted from her thoughts as the limousine came to a stop. They were in the Hollywood Hills - she’d lost track of exactly where some time around the eighth curving road lined by palm trees and privacy walls. The window separating the passenger area from the driver’s seat rolled down, and LaCroix’s driver looked at her through the rear view mirror.

“You’ll know the house when you see it - it’s the only Victorian one on the street. It’ll be too suspicious if I drop you off out front.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” she mumbled in reply, a little embarrassed at having been caught so offguard.

“I’ll be waiting down the hill.” The driver said as Mary tugged open the door. “Good luck.”

It always seemed to be ghouls that she got along with best. “Thanks.” 

No sooner had she shut the door behind her than the limo pulled away from the curb and made a u-turn back down the hill.

Mary let her mask drop with an exhale, her appearance reflecting the truth of her nature once more. It made slinking through the darkness easier, second nature when she knew what mortal eyes on her risked. True to the driver’s word, as she climbed the lonely hill she saw the conical roof of an aging Victorian mansion rising above the walls that hid most of it from view.

The front gate was gilded, elegant, and to her surprise - open.

Beyond was a front garden with trees she’d never seen before, their crimson leaves sent falling to the ground with the slightest breeze. Some landed on the surface of a nearby pond. The area was peaceful, beautiful - but Mary had little time to appreciate its beauty, for she was not alone.

Nines had just opened the front door. He didn’t see her at first, not until he’d exited the mansion and closed the masterwork door behind him. 

As their eyes met, the two of them froze. It didn’t last long - as soon as he processed what he had seen a scowl crossed his features.

Mary felt a chill harsher than the grave rush through her body at the sight. Something was wrong.

“What are you doing here?” Nines barked, heading down the steps of the porch. There was no trace of the gentleness she knew him for, nor the exhaustion that seemed to plague him. Now he simply radiated _power_ \- and in an instant paranoia tightened around her like a vice.

“I should ask you the same thing.” Mary replied hesitantly, confusion overriding any anger she felt at being so addressed. “LaCroix’s got me checking in on Grout.” The gears were turning in her head. “I didn’t know you were involved. Uhm. _Are_ you involved?”

It drew a smile on his face that lacked humor, his canines catching the light. For the first time she saw him as a predator - a role she and him both shared. Nines had never worn his so plainly before her. “See for yourself.” With a casual shrug, he jerked his thumb back to the front door.

Mary looked between him and the door, dread bubbling in her gut. “... Nines? What’s in there?”

Still he merely smiled. “Say hi to LaCroix for me.” He began to walk down the garden path to the front gate, footsteps crunching against the gravel.

Against her better judgement, she reached for his arm - breaking all of her rules, everything about Kindred society that had taught her that she was never supposed to touch, never supposed to reach out. What had happened the night before made her brave. “Nines- “ she began, but before she could say any more he’d slapped her hand away, returning her words with a scowl.

“Don’t touch me.” he spat.

Mary was rooted to the spot, unable to look at him - the sight of his scowl was like staring into the sun, burning her eyes, causing tears to spring to them. Instead she dropped her gaze to the hand he’d slapped away - her gnarled claws, spiderlike fingers, bony knuckles, broken skin. The sound of his footsteps faded, and still she was frozen in place.

_Don’t touch me._

The words rang in her head, a constant loop - if she still had to breathe she’d be hyperventilating, thrown back to a time she never wanted to remember again. Her hand shook as she stared at it, suddenly tempted to try and gnaw off her own limb - to tear it from her shoulder and throw it into the pond, to ravage the tree bark until only splinters remained.

Mary could feel the Beast rising - but this time it was intelligent. All of the whispered warnings made its voice, a cacophony of _I told you_ , a banging drum reminding her that the monster within was all she had. It was beseeching her to embrace it, to let it in - and she would have, were it not for the sudden glare of approaching headlights down the street jolting her back to reality.

She couldn’t be seen. She had to hide.

The shadows she drew around her were an old friend. Mary disappeared from sight, and entered Grout’s mansion.

She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to be seen again.

While she was invisible to others, Mary was all too capable of bearing witness. Her sense of sight was fast becoming a source of pain to her - and in Grout’s mansion lay daggers aplenty to chip away at her soul.

The place was a prison - its architecture was meant to disorient and contain, and it fulfilled its purpose to horrible effectiveness with its inhabitants. People in straight jackets roamed the halls, others muzzled, others still huddled in corners weeping and trying to hide from the rest. Some had makeshift weaponry, and the occasional rotting corpse she stumbled across was proof enough that if Mary wanted to leave the mansion alive, she’d best stay hidden.

It was horrible - horrible enough that she couldn’t focus on what had happened with Nines. The people roaming the halls were human - she could hear their heartbeat - but humanity hadn’t kept their ill in such a way in decades. They needed help, they needed somewhere safe, stable - instead they were treated as animals. Mary found a tape recorder that held Grout’s musings, and she listened to it in desperate hope that it’d have some explanation for the treatment of the poor souls within his estate.

Instead she was granted clinical detachment and paranoia. LaCroix was right - Grout had gone into hiding out of paranoia.

Part of Mary hoped he was dead as she passed by a row of cells, deep grooves left in the concrete walls from their inhabitants trying to scratch their way out. Dead by the hand of his ‘patients’, if there was any justice in the world. 

When she breached Grout’s inner sanctum and left the mansion’s patients behind, the darker thoughts of her own were able to escape to the forefront of her mind once more. Nines had told her to see for herself, had come for a reason - had done nothing to help the poor souls roaming the halls, had made no mention of them. His motivations were unknown to her. The man she had spoken to only two hours before was a stranger to her.

Mary’s hand still burned from where he struck it.

She stared at the twin mahogany doors of the sanctum antechamber, dreading what sight awaited her beyond.

What greeted her as she pushed them open was exactly what she expected.

Lying handcuffed on the mattress was a skeleton in a pile of ash - shackled to the bedposts, a stake through its ribs. Mary’s hand slid down the door, her claws carving a path into it.

It was a justice, given what she’d just seen. Perhaps that was Nines’ reasoning, perhaps he knew how Grout was treating those under his ‘care’ and decided enough was enough. 

That didn’t erase how he’d acted. Neither could she ignore the matter of what to tell LaCroix. Mary was still learning about Kindred politics, but even she knew that assassinating a primogen was likely to have dire consequences. Lethal ones, for the leader of the Camarilla’s enemy.

The Beast within her had another proposition. _He tried to make sure you wouldn’t rat him out. He didn’t have to touch you anymore - he got what he wanted. Where does that leave us? We’re holding the bag, and no one will miss a sewer rat._

As if to punctuate its point, a loud _bang_ sounded from beyond the bedroom’s balcony. Mary raced out onto it, now overlooking the main atrium of the building - and saw flames. A figure in a trenchcoat stood among them - dressed like the hunters she’d seen in Hollywood. This man, however, was much older - and as he held up a silver cross, its reflection nearly blinded her.

“I come for you next, LaCroix!” The man announced, his accent distinctly German - and for a moment relief washed over Mary. Perhaps Grout’s actions had drawn the attention of hunters, perhaps Nines had just come to investigate.

“You did the world a favor!” Mary shouted down from the balcony. Any relief she felt was extinguished by the sudden look of confusion on the man’s face.

“You - you are not the oracle.” 

The flames were starting to crawl up the walls, but she had to find out the truth. “Grout’s dead.” she yelled, and the man’s face was colored with fury.

“Gargoyle!” The man cried. “You’ve stolen my vengeance from me, but you will burn with the rest.”

“I didn’t kill him! Did you see any-”

The cross flashed, and Mary was blinded properly - her world turned white long enough for twin crossbow bolts to pierce her ribcage. When her sight cleared and she gasped for breath, she saw that they’d narrowly missed her heart - and that the man had vanished. Pain radiated through her chest as the shock wore off, her vision now growing clouded by smoke.

Grout’s mansion was on fire.

_Fire._

It was Chinatown all over again, but somehow worse. Mary fled back down the halls, too panicked to wreathe herself in shadow. The heat was intense, wood splintering and bursting, howls of agony echoing throughout the mansion - she stumbled when she realized who they must have belonged to, how many dozens of innocents doomed to a horrible fate. Any of her own conscience was blown to pieces, survival paramount on her mind - she dodged the ‘patients’ she came across, desperately trying to retrace her steps.

The ceiling collapsed, tauntingly near the front door. A wall of flame blocked her escape, the smoke stinging her eyes. Desperately Mary looked around for an alternate path - there were no windows to the outdoors, the mansion built to shield Grout from the sun. There were doors, but too many of them. Many were likely false, if her experience with the rest of the manor was any indicator.

Something burst through one of the doors. A ‘patient’ on fire - but she could hear no heartbeat.

In the next moment she felt teeth sink into her neck and flames licking at her skin. It was like her Embrace all over again, her neck torn asunder and every nerve lighting up in agony.

For the second time, she frenzied.

With great strength she pulled her assailant off of her, throwing them through the rubble left by the ceiling collapse. They broke through the wood and debris, leaving her enough of a path through - and her feral mind clambered through it desperately. Flames were all around her, but she made it through with no more burns than the ones she’d already sustained.

The patients beyond were panicking - some slashed at her, their blades finding purchase, and their bodies were broken against the burning walls in return. There was no revelling in it this time - no rejoicing of the Beast within - it was a part of her, and it was desperately searching for a way to keep them both alive.

Down the halls she raced on all fours, perilously close to escape. The front doors came into view. Frantic and feral, her mind did not consider the consequences of ripping the door from its hinges.

The new and rich supply of oxygen caused a flashover. All of the entry hall ignited in a fireball, and Mary flung herself out into the front garden too late to avoid her body catching alight.

 _Pain. Pain._ Mary echoed the howls from the mansion, stumbling down the porch. Memories of the Fu Syndicate were still in sharp relief in her mind, but the Beast was in control - it was all that carried her forward, all that threw her into the garden pond.

Mary sank beneath the surface, and all sound cut out.

There she remained, until her mind was her own again.

The pain was immense. Mary dragged herself to shore, her body coated in mud and algae. Her fingers were stuck together, melted from the heat - but her leather jacket had managed to protect her core. Somewhere in her flight the bolts in her chest had snapped off, and she could feel their sharp metal tips moving about within her, slicing her ribs and lungs to ribbons with every movement she made.

Behind her the mansion burned. Whatever howls of pain once sounded were now silent, the crackling of wood now the only dirge that played for the souls lost within. Mary stood wet and shuddering, her mind blank. 

Headlights shone from the road, but she didn’t comprehend them. Mary’s mind was overwhelmed, frozen by what she’d witnessed and felt, and she wasn’t about to move of her own accord until the sun itself set its eyes upon her.

LaCroix’s limousine was the source of the lights, sparking vague recognition in her. A door shut, and the slim figure of the Prince’s driver jogged into the garden through the front gates.

“I saw the smoke-” she started to explain, cut off by a gag at the sight of Mary. “Oh, god.”

Mary slowly turned her head to look at the driver. Her eyes fixed on the woman’s neck.

It was a look the driver was used to, judging by her words. “We have to leave before the fire department gets here.”

Reality was beginning to settle back over Mary, the woman’s words centering her. The fire department. The Masquerade.

Mary stumbled after the driver. As soon as the door to the limo was open, her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the leather, and was soon shut into darkness.

The cool leather on her cheek was comforting.

\--

LaCroix paced his office. The moment his driver had called him he knew - he ordered the fledgling brought straight to him, her exhaustion a key component to the symphony he was about to orchestrate. Beckett had returned, but his reading had been derailed by LaCroix’s frantic phone exchange. The tension in the air was palpable.

In any other instance, the scholar would be dismissed - and he seemed to know it, judging by the awkward way he lingered by the bookcase. Curiosity overrode the man’s caution. LaCroix had his witness.

He was glad that his excitement could be mistaken for fear.

There was no announcement of the fledgling’s arrival. The door to the penthouse opened slowly, and a small figure stumbled inside - carrying with her the scent of ash and melted flesh.

“Fledgling.” LaCroix stopped mid-pace, the shock and worry in his tone well rehearsed. He crossed the room to her side, and willed himself to grab her as she stumbled. “What happened? Where is Grout?”

“It’s all wrong.” she murmured - her gaze was unfocused and he was thankful for it. She couldn’t see how his nose wrinkled, how he couldn’t help flinching when his hand met melted flesh.

“She needs blood.” Beckett spoke, an uncharacteristic note of discomfort in his voice. The display of empathy would have amused LaCroix, if matters didn’t require his utmost focus.

“No one leaves this room until I discover what happened.” LaCroix snapped, stilling Beckett. He turned his attention back to Mary, dropping his voice to his best approximation of gentle - a tone that, to his own nausea, sounded dangerously close to that of his sire’s. “Fledgling. You’re safe now. What happened?”

Staying conscious was a struggle for her, that much was obvious - it was only his marble grip that was keeping her upright now, legs buckling from underneath her. “Grout’s dead.” she moaned, the admission obviously causing her distress. “There was fire - there were people inside, LaCroix, they-”

LaCroix shook her. “Fledgling. Stay with me. We knew he had ghouls. What else did you see?”

“There was… a man.” Mary spoke slowly, and he knew precisely why. “A hunter. His voice… German, I think.”

A hunter. That wasn’t part of the plan. The vitae in LaCroix’s deadened veins turned to ice - had Ming-Xiao betrayed him? It was something he expected, but through their deal the mutual gain would be utter madness to ignore.

“Likely one of the Society of Leopold.” Beckett spoke up once again, the distress in his tone heightened. “I’ve only just discovered they’re operating in the city.”

“He’s coming for you.” Mary muttered, vitae and saliva dripping out from between her teeth. “He said.”

The Society of Leopold. A german. _Grunfield Bach._ An offhanded elimination centuries ago had culminated in what could be the ruination of a plan that would grant LaCroix a stranglehold on Los Angeles in one fell swoop. He’d rend the entire family tree limb from limb. “Did he kill Grout?”

Mary was silent, and LaCroix softened his grip. Even laced by bloody tears, her eyes spoke for her - and hope surged through him at the sight. “He was too late.”

The way Beckett tensed could be felt across the room. The next seconds were critical. 

“Mary.” he used her name, spoken soft as a lover - and it caused her face to screw up in pain. “Mary, if you saw anything -” Vitae burned within him, his will thrust upon her. “- I need to know. Was there anyone else? Anything else?”

There was a strangled noise in her throat, but no other sound. Dominate crashed over her like it did her sire - and fear had him tighten his grip on her hard enough to cause pain. The fledgling mewled weakly, and he felt a surge of fury at how something so _pathetic_ could be granted such potency of blood.

“For christ’s sake, Sebastian.” Beckett’s voice cut across the room, his boots padding across the parquet. “The girl’s halfway to torpor, she’s incoherent -”

“Stop.” LaCroix snapped, halting the scholar’s approach. “Mary.” LaCroix repeated her name again, lowering his face close to hers and speaking too quietly for Beckett to hear. “I need you to understand - if you saw no one, eyes will turn to you. I won’t be able to protect you, regardless of my title. The primogen will want blood. If you saw someone, if they told you to be quiet, they tried to sign your death warrant.”

The nosferatu trembled in his grip, shaking her head back and forth - her oversized ears flopping to and fro. “He wouldn’t.” she whispered.

It took everything in him not to exclaim in victory. He’d found the key. Insecurity, paranoia. “Who wouldn’t?” 

Mary was shaking her head again. “Don’t make me say it. Please.” Beckett’s expression was one of utter dismay.

“I forget how young you are.” LaCroix whispered, pulling from history the cruel lessons his sire had imparted on him. Her insecurity and paranoia would be turned against her - he’d play her heart strings like a harp. “Fledgling, this is one of the first lessons we learn. It is the most painful. People aren’t as they appear, and if you trust anyone, they will use it against you. Don’t let that happen. Don’t die for another.” 

A beat of silence, her body growing still. For a moment he thought he’d pushed her too far, that her body had succumbed to torpor in an attempt to sustain itself. If she had, his efforts were wasted - her physical trauma, her exhaustion - it all was a carefully crafted sequence to get her to confess against her better judgement. If any piece fell away, it was over.

To his relief, her eyes managed to focus on his face - the hurt within them enough to tempt what scraps of empathy he had left to him. “Nines. I saw… I saw him leave.”

LaCroix released her. Mary fell to her knees on the ground.

“This could be the start of a war.” he muttered. “Perhaps Strauss was right.”

Beckett looked between the two of them, for once in his miserable life speechless. As he no doubt tried to find the words he meant to say, he approached Mary as LaCroix circled back to his desk.

“Do you plan on aiding her? If not, would it offend if I took the matter upon myself?” Beckett inquired, all the bite of his words returned.

It didn’t matter. None of it - none of _them_ \- would matter, soon enough. “It would be best. If you truly wish to help her, you’ll take her with you out of this city.” LaCroix mused aloud. “If the Anarchs know what she’s done, they’ll kill her.”


	21. Interlude II

The world was a sea, and she was drowning in it.

LaCroix’s face swam before her, feelings caught in her throat, her nostrils, her lungs. Her limbs resisted her movements, some great power trying to pull her under. The light was fading, her body was cold, but LaCroix ignited within her a momentary burst of flame.

One moment. One moment, and the world could change. It only took a second to ruin a life.

Nines’ name had no sooner left her lips than touch had left her - she was released, LaCroix’s soft fingers abandoning her and leaving ice in their wake. Sorting through her thoughts was impossible - the maelstrom of hurt and confusion, and a growing bubbling terror in her gut that she hadn’t felt since she saw her father’s corpse at the end of the barrel.

_What had she done?_

Yet the terror was fading, forced under with the rest - sound was leaving her, her vision growing double. A shadow approached her side, words muffled - and then she was lifted, the scent of leather and old parchment greeting her nostrils.

All she could see was the vague outline of a head above her. Somewhere far away a voice spoke of torpor, and the world went out.

\--

Nines hadn’t expected a summons from Isaac to his haven in the hills to be a good thing, and he was proved right when his night began with Velvet on the verge of tears and Isaac looking dishevelled for the first time since Ash’s Embrace.

He knew Ash was the reason for the dread the moment he was ushered into Isaac’s bedroom - his sanctum. Velvet sat weeping on the mattress, while Isaac stared at his desk - simpler and older than the one in his ‘official’ office. Upon it sat a wallet, a driver’s license withdrawn and leaning against it - and a silver ring.

Both had been left at Vesuvius’ front desk by an unknown individual. The license could be explained, but the ring could not - a gift from Velvet, one that Ash wasn’t to be willingly parted from no matter how much he may have resented his Sire. The message was clear - Ash didn’t escape LA.

“What does the fledgling know?” Isaac asked quietly, unable to remove his eyes from the face on the license. “Where did she send him?”

“The last she saw him, he was at her haven in Santa Monica.” Nines answered just as quietly. Velvet’s perfect shoulders shuddered, illuminated and glittering in the moonlight.

Isaac nodded slowly. “I need to see her.”

There was a darkness in his tone Nines recognized, and his next steps had to be cautious ones. “Isaac, she’ll just repeat what she’s already said.” Paranoia was an easy trap to fall into, one that could not be fed.

Velvet finally turned to face him, mascara running down her cheeks, strands of cherry hair stuck to her tear-damp face. “Nines - find him, please - he doesn’t know what it’s truly like out there. They’ll devour him.”

“If he lives.” Isaac murmured, and Velvet buried her face in her hands.

“I’ll get what people I can to start searching.” Nines promised. “Skelter can track like no one else, he’ll turn up something.”

Isaac at last looked him in the eye, his own hollow. “Thank you.”

It was cue enough to leave. 

As Nines crested the hill Isaac’s mansion sat upon, he saw flames on a distant hill. The smoke billowing forth from the blaze was pitch black and thick enough to be visible even in the darkness, a great beast surging into the sky. 

He revved his motorbike and picked up speed. The night had one bad omen after another. 

\--

“What did Isaac have to say?” Damsel asked before he could even set his helmet down. The Last Round’s music was quieter than usual - she and Skelter were gathered around one of the downstairs tables, the sole item on its surface a mobile phone. They were waiting on a call.

“I don’t think Ash made it out of LA.” Nines answered, running a hand through his hair - messy from being trapped in the helmet for so long. “Some asshole left a warning at Vesuvius. They think something happened to him.”

“Shit. Should I send some of the boys out?”

“I was hoping Skelter could, actually.” 

Skelter raised a pierced brow. “I’ve got a couple kids who’ve got something to prove, sure. Not that I’ve got anything against tracking down a pretty boy with daddy issues, but…” He tipped his head toward the phone. “Cammies are onto something big.”

LaCroix’s salon. Nines had nearly forgotten the meeting with what had happened with Ash. “The salon’s gone on that long?”

“Nah, the first one was quick.” Damsel began - their mole on the inside was her contact, a childe of the son-of-a-bitch who’d declared himself Brujah primogen the second the Camarilla showed up. “San Diego’s Nosferatu have gone dark. The fucking wizard thinks they went Anarch. Or we killed them. Same shit different night - everything’s our fault.”

“Only an idiot fucks with the Nosferatu.” Nines muttered, leaning against the side of the booth Damsel sat in. “We need them as much as the cammies do. They go, we’re blind.”

“Guess they think we’re idiots.” Damsel scowled. “Anyways, the meeting got cut short by briar patch coming in to make her report. Apparently she looked pretty rough.” The way Nines’ grip tightened on the back of the booth didn’t go unnoticed by her. “I got nothing after that. LaCroix sent all the ass kissers out.”

 _She looked pretty rough._ Mary hadn’t mentioned any further work LaCroix had for her, and after Chinatown Nines hoped that even LaCroix could see she needed a break from the action. Unbidden the image of the Hollywood hills burning came to his mind, and he had to work to keep his composure. They already thought they’d lost one fledgling. He didn’t know what he’d do if they lost his.

_His._

The knowledge settled over him and made his vitae turn to ice. Attachment more fierce than he’d allowed himself - too quick, too intense - and he was starting to dread how long it’d take before the world decided to correct his mistake.

Yet his mistake was what made him himself - was what seperated him from the monsters in suits. To stay isolated and unattached was the best way to protect himself - but it came at the cost of his soul.

Damsel was staring at him. How long had he been silent?

“Now he’s called a second meeting.” Nines said flatly, more a statement than a question - trying to play his silence off as deep thought. It wasn’t a lie.

“Yep.” Damsel nudged her phone with her finger. “Whatever the kid had to say really ruffled his feathers, ‘cause LaCroix called everyone back in. Kinda late for those fat cats. Bet they’re pissed.”

Skelter was still frowning down at the phone, as lost in thought as Nines had been. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”

In Nines’ experience, Skelter’s bad feelings were something to trust. Part of him began to wonder if Beckett’s talk of unease in the air was worth anything after all, but he couldn’t dwell for long.

The phone rang.

Damsel snapped it up into her hand before any of them could blink, flipping it open and holding it to her ear. The voice on the other end was frantic, speaking too quickly for Nines to gauge through the distortion of the phone - but Damsel understood clearly enough.

Her expression shifted quickly - first eager interest, then disbelief, then horror - then pure, frothing rage. “Listen, you better get your ass somewhere safe because this whole city’s going to be burning by tomorrow night.” she warned before stabbing her finger into the ‘end call’ button. It was then that she let her true thoughts on the matter out. “That _fucking cunt._ ”

Skelter and Nines both stared at her, opening their mouths in tandem to ask what was wrong - but Damsel violently lunged out of the booth and stole away whatever words they’d begun to say. Her destination was the bar, and Nines’ helmet sitting upon it - she took it in hand and threw it his way.

It was tossed with enough force to knock the air from his lungs on catching it, if any still remained. Dread and anger mixed in him - he was desperate to know the answer, but Damsel’s anger was never born of good news. Nines had a chance to choke out a few words. “Are you going to tell -”

“The fucking rat sold us out.” Damsel hissed. “LaCroix’s calling a blood hunt. You gotta get out of town, yesterday.”

It took a beat for comprehension to settle over him. “... you don’t mean -”

“I TRUSTED HER!” Damsel screamed, louder than the music in the bar could ever hope to be. A muscle in her jaw quivered, her whole body shaking with anger - and moisture was starting to gather on her lower lashes. “Someone killed the fucking Malkavian primogen, and she pointed the finger at _you_.” She was pointing at him, too - her hand shook before falling limply to her side. “ _Stupid_.” she murmured. “Nosferatu, I should have known, I shouldn’t have…”

“You gotta get out of here.” Skelter agreed, standing to his full height. “Blood hunt’s going to bring every Kindred from here to Seattle. Better skip town.”

“I was born here. I’ll die here. I’ll be at the usual place.” Nines answered all too bluntly. He was still dumbstruck - it was like the Kuei-Jin invasion all over again, friends dying in droves, others desperate to save themselves and offering up loved ones to the pyre. Every night back then had brought bad news, had Damsel lashing out, had his shoulders burdened under yet another betrayal. Just before the truce Nines thought he’d break from it all, thought he’d give up on ever believing in anyone new again. Until a human fell onto his doorstep. 

Until Mary. 

According to Damsel, history had only repeated itself. Mary had done as so many had - saved her own skin, offered his head to the chopping block. Had she been manipulating him the whole time, or was her hand forced to make an impossible choice? He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t process it. She had more than enough reasons to be furious with him, but she wasn’t petty - wasn’t cruel.

Wasn’t she?

Skelter’s hand settled on his shoulder heavily, jolting him from his thoughts. “We’ll take care of things here. I’ll get my boys to track down anyone new coming into the city. You better move.”

Nines nodded quickly, gathering his nerve and thankful that Skelter, at least, had thought his worries lied in what the Anarchs would do without him. They’d be fine, of that he was certain - he could be a useless figurehead anywhere. What mattered now was getting somewhere no Kindred would dare follow. He put lives in danger just by proximity, with a blood hunt on his head.

_A blood hunt._

If he wasn’t quick, his body would die with the rest of him. He shut away every part of him that wasn’t intent on surviving. 

Nearly every part.

“Damsel.” he said, voice hard and commanding - they all expected the leader. Fear was contagious. He couldn’t let his show. “I need you to promise me something.”

It drew her out of the self-hatred she was no doubt on the precipice of falling into, a feedback loop he’d seen too many times - a fury at herself so great it spilled out and burned everything else it touched. “Yeah?”

“If she comes here -” Nines couldn’t bring himself to speak her name now. “- don’t lay a hand on her. Don’t try to keep her here. Let her go.”

“Are you _insane_?” Damsel roared. “She just sold us out! I’ll tear off those fucking spikes on her shoulder and stick them up her -”

“ _No_.” Nines said, firmly enough to silence her. Instead she stared at him, studied him, fuming.

“Fine.” she agreed. “But if she starts anything, I’m killing her.”

Nines shook his head. He’d fought Mary - he’d seen her Sire, knew that her blood was more potent than her age implied. “If she starts anything, you run. I’ve sparred with her. It’s not a fight you’ll win.” He looked between Damsel and Skelter - both of them looked hollow at the thought. It was all the reassurance he’d get. He pulled the motorcycle helmet on, eager to hide his face from the others. Every passing moment he had to keep a straight face made him feel like Atlas, shouldering the earth. “I’ll talk to you soon. Be safe.”

“Good luck, Nines.” Damsel’s voice cracked as she bid her farewell. Skelter only gave a slow nod, grim understanding on his features. They were all prepared to die - all aware that it might be the last time any of them spoke to each other.

He turned and left The Last Round, murmuring a string of rosaries under his breath. They’d need all the help they could get in the coming nights.

Nines’ bike roared to life beneath him, echoing the beast tearing at his chest. He hoped someone tried something.

Anything to wipe her face from his memory, just for a moment.

\--

Dimly she was aware of swaying back and forth, the up-and-down of being carried. Time blurred together. Down she went, and down some more - somewhere damp and dark, then up again - the light growing bright enough for her to squint. Then something solid under her back - then _warmth,_ glorious warmth. Skin under her lips. Mary sank her teeth in, and the warmth filled her mouth, flowed down her throat. She held onto the limb as its owner started to struggle - the blood blotted out all thought, it was liquid euphoria. As she drank more, the taste seemed familiar - cologne filling her nostrils, paper money…

The limb thrashed, and then she was pulled away by strong arms.

 _No_ , she thought, struggling in her captor’s grip. With the blood the pull below was halted, sensation returning - the first of which was _pain_. 

“My apologies.” Sound had returned as well, and with it a voice - familiar but blurred. It belonged to the one holding her back - her vision cleared enough to see another familiar figure in front of her, rubbing his wrist nervously.

“You’re lucky LaCroix gave the go ahead. Nearly fuckin’ killed me. I think I need to sit down.” Mercurio said, looking at her with no small degree of caution. “She doesn’t look much better.”

A hand laid on the top of her skull and pulled her head back so she could look up at the being behind her - the identity of her captor revealed. Beckett was looking down at her, an eyebrow raised over his shades. 

“Do you feel better, fledgling?”

“No.” she murmured, all too aware of how she’d torn her melted fingers apart from each other, the ragged flesh exposed to the air. Still the crossbow tips tore at her insides, a steady trail of vitae from their entry wounds signifying she was far from healed. She swallowed, Mercurio’s blood still thick and sweet in her throat. “I can’t… it _hurts._ ”

“Hm.” Beckett hummed, brow creasing in concern. The world beyond him was blurred, but she saw the shapes move as she was picked up once more. When she was next placed down, the surface beneath her was soft. “Mercurio, see if I’ve anything in the icebox.”

“The fridge.” Mercurio muttered. Mary saw his silhouette disappear into the blurry beyond. She tried to focus on something, anything - distracting herself from the pain was paramount, but it was so hard when she couldn’t _see -_

Then cold plastic was lifted to her mouth, and she had the wherewithal to pierce it with her fangs.

Blood, cold but still thick - goosebumps raised on her skin as she swallowed it, a reflexive noise of pleasure sounding in her throat.

Mercurio’s figure came into greater focus. “Didn’t know the good stuff came in bags.” Beyond him was an elegant kitchen, cupboards carved mahogany. 

“It’s a terrible way to treat vitae of such quality, but convenience can be priceless. Whatever his faults, your regnant pays for services offered.” Beckett replied.

The pain faded, and awareness of her surroundings returned. She was horizontal, lying on a couch - there were towels beneath her, likely intended to soak up the vitae still trickling out of her. Mary watched as bits of sharp metal popped out of her, her wounds starting to knit together with a supply of such potent blood. 

Beckett stood at the foot of the couch with his arms crossed, studying her. “Welcome back.” His trenchcoat had a smear of her vitae upon it, black against brown. 

“Where am I?” she rasped, still far from used to the sensation of her flesh mending on its own. 

“The Prince has been kind enough to offer me a haven while I stay in the city. I tend not to use it much, as the key to havens is _privacy_. As considerate as Sebastian has been, I’d rather he not know where I sleep.” He grinned at his own little joke. “Its proximity was a convenience I couldn’t pass up, however, given how time was of the essence.” 

Mary squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blink the fog from her mind. “Why… it wasn’t that late, was it?”

“We were not racing the sunlight, no.” Beckett continued. “I assume that if the Anarchs have lasted as long as they have, they have insight into just what goes on in LaCroix’s chambers. Given recent events, I believe it prudent that you spend as little time on the streets as possible until tempers cool.”

The Anarchs. _Nines._

Mary sat straight up, and the world swam before her again. “Shit. _Shit._ I have to warn them, I -” She tried to get up off of the couch, but found herself forced back down by Beckett and Mercurio’s combined efforts.

“It’s out of your hands, kid.” Mercurio said, face twisted into a sympathetic wince. “Probably a good idea to lay low ‘til the heat dies down.”

For the moment, she stilled - but neither of the two men seemed willing to release her just yet. “What’s going to happen?” she asked, unable to keep the fear from her tone - she’d started to tremble, and both Beckett and Mercurio exchanged looks.

It seemed they were trying to gauge who would be the most tactful, neither willing to speak - and that had her struggling in their grip again.

“ _Fledgling._ ” Beckett scolded. “I’ve taken a risk in bringing you here - if you’re not going to thank me, the least you could do is try not to unwrite our efforts. It’d be rude to have Mercurio give blood for nothing, no?”

Panic had already set into her, and she managed to wrench free of Mercurio’s grip, sending him staggering back. “They’re going to kill him, aren’t they -”

Beckett sighed in annoyance, and released her. Mary scrambled upright, stood up, and…

… nearly collapsed onto the coffee table, her legs too weak to support her. Scraps of paper and notepads went everywhere as she clung to the table for support, and she cried out in frustration. Mary let her body go slack, cheek pressed to the wooden surface, her lower body splayed out in between the table and the couch.

Mercurio’s pager buzzed - he glanced at it and looked positively relieved. “I uh. I’ve got to go.” He glanced between Beckett and her, looking distinctly uncomfortable at Mary’s display. 

“Yes, I believe that would be wise.” Beckett huffed. He was as uncomfortable as Mercurio, though his eyes were busy looking over the mess she had made. His hands rested on his hips, like a parent observing a misbehaving child. “I wouldn’t want to stretch your loyalties. Thank you.”

“I owed the kid one.” The ghoul waved his hand, dismissing the thanks - and walked out of Mary’s field of view. She heard a door open, then close.

There wasn’t enough blood in her to cry. It was a feeling she wasn’t unfamiliar with - in life moments where she’d exhausted even weeping were a frequent occurrence. Until Nines.

_Nines._

Mary lay in silence, defeated, pathetic, the reality of what she’d done settling over her.

“I’ve spoken to Rodriguez, you know.” Beckett broke the silence, though his voice may as well have been far away for all Mary cared. “A few nights ago. I try not to involve myself in matters like these, but I’ve gotten the impression the man is difficult to kill.”

He was trying to reassure her, she realized - and perhaps he was right. Nines must have known the city better than anyone, he had the Anarchs on his side, and she’d seen firsthand what he could do in combat.

_Was that the real him?_

Mary squeezed her eyes shut again, but this time she didn’t reopen them. Her face scrunched up, claws digging into the tabletop, legs dragged under it as her entire body tensed, coiled - a different kind of pain was wracking her.

A hand rested on her back, between her shoulder blades. The touch stilled her. Beckett was awkwardly patting her, the motion foreign to him - but he was trying nevertheless.

“Fledgling?”

“Was he right?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Am I… am I just a fucking _idiot_ , for thinking -”

“No.” Beckett cut across her sharply. “I’m a scholar, fledgling. I trust actions over words, fact over feeling. From what I know - you were used tonight, yes. But not by who you think. For all his virtues, I wouldn’t call Rodriguez exceptionally clever.”

“I saw him.” Mary mumbled, rolling her head so her face pressed into the tabletop. Her voice was muffled against it. “He… he was _cruel._ ”

“If he wanted you to protect him, why would he antagonize you?” 

It was something she hadn’t considered, and it made her feel all the more foolish. Rage started to build in her - rage at herself, at how easily she’d been played, and she hissed through her teeth. “You should have let me bleed out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Beckett clicked his tongue in annoyance. “It was bound to happen - an unfortunate reality of our existence. It’s why I try my best to stay quite removed from politics, and enjoy the comfort of being indispensable. I’d advise you to do the same.”

Mary seethed, strength slowly starting to return to her as the vitae she’d imbibed made its way through her dead arteries. She managed to pull herself upright and deposit herself back on the couch. “What should I do?”

“LaCroix said I should take you with me when my work in Los Angeles is done. I’m inclined to agree with him. Your ‘debt’ to him is the sarcophagus - once he has it and its nature can be confirmed, his eyes will turn to cleaning up the rest of the city. From experience - it’s not something you want to be present for.”

“The anarchs -”

“Will fight. They might win, even - but don’t tell Sebastian that.” Beckett grinned at her again, though this time it lacked humor. “It won’t be a good outcome for you, given tonight’s events. A Camarilla victory isn’t likely to be good either - given that your loyalties are questionable at best.”

Mary hung her head. She hoped Nines would be successful, hoped she hadn’t destroyed Los Angeles’ chance at freedom. “So, what - I just stay here until the Giovanni have their party, then fuck off with you to wherever?”

“Yes.” Beckett answered. “I’ll take you out of the city, at least - I don’t mean to offend, but your clan presents… difficulties when it comes to travel.”

She looked down at her hands - watched her skin knit itself together. It didn’t look any better than it had melted, but at least it was whole. “Thanks.”

There was a ringing noise, so sudden Mary flinched terribly. Beckett sighed, slipping his clawed hand into his coat pocket and retrieving a cell phone. He had some difficulty flipping it open, clearly unpractised with the thing - and when he held it to his ear he cast her a pointed look.

“... I’m on my way.” he answered whatever voice was on the other end before ending the call. He frowned at Mary as he dropped his phone back into his pocket. “I suspect that will be Sebastian announcing his decision to the public - he’ll be wanting me as a witness, I’m certain. Can I trust you not to destroy this haven in a rage while I’m gone?”

It wasn’t the apartment Beckett had to worry about. “Yeah.” She glanced around at her surroundings. “You mind if I do some light reading?”

Mary had no intention of staying, but if Beckett had any suspicion he was likely to ensure she wasn’t getting out of the apartment. An obstacle - but one she knew how to deal with well. 

She’d escaped more than one home.

“Feel free to peruse the paperbacks. The parchment and hardcovers are more delicate - I’d appreciate you leaving them be.” Beckett seemed genuinely _touched_ that she thought to peer at his reading material, and Mary almost felt bad for misleading him. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Okay.” She picked up one of the paperbacks she’d knocked to the floor - a printed scientific study on a recently unearthed Assyrian tomb by a Dr. Johansen. From the first page she knew she was vastly out of her element, but she put on a good enough performance to have Beckett comfortable enough to leave.

Mary did not look up from her book as the door shut - she kept flipping pages, listened to Beckett’s footsteps fade. Still she pretended to read, counting down the minutes. It was well rehearsed theatrics, something she’d done since her childhood, and she prayed it’d pay off.

Beckett, at least, wasn’t likely to call her a hellspawn if he caught her out. Even if he did - the truth couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Five minutes since she’d last heard his footsteps. She counted every second, and the moment they had passed she was on her feet and out the door. Mary considered that she didn’t know exactly _where_ she was as she flew down the building stairwell, but she’d figure it out once she made it to the sewers. 

She had to hurry. With luck, she’d make it to The Last Round in time to correct her mistake. 

\--

There was energy humming in the air. The stones felt warm to the touch. A ripple of change.

Andrei knew it was coming, had expected it the moment the false lords of the Camarilla had fled to their prince. The childe of the Red Star burned, and transformation carried on the wind. A false lord dead. For whom would the sword point to?

The stones offered no answer. He had retreated to the catacombs while he awaited the answer. If the prince had ceased his cowardice and made the mistake of acknowledging the Sabbat by condemning them, he’d see just what plans Andrei had for his Sheriff.

A pretender like the prince, one of the fleshcrafters beyond the sea, their art primitive, unrefined. But clay that could be moulded, changed…

Movement in the stones. Andrei turned to see the small eyeless creature who’d so often been his messenger in recent nights, his most loyal among the Nosferatu - a Creep.

“Archbishop.” The Creep bowed. “A blood hunt has been called on Nines Rodriguez.”

It was almost an insult - to cast blame for the death of a corrupted and decadent elder at the feet of those of their number who were too cowardly to embrace their truth, so many centuries ago. The Anarchs hadn’t the teeth. But if the Camarilla had finally made their move, if they were willing to weaken themselves by going to war…

“Ready the others.” Andrei instructed. “The moment he is ash, we will unleash ourselves upon the city. Let the pretenders cannibalize themselves. We devour what remains and take the throne.”

The Creep before him bowed again, buzzing with excitement. It made Andrei salivate, hearing the vitae quicken within them. “I’ll inform them now.”

They had bided their time, just as they had so many centuries ago, before the Treaty of Thorns. Now they would feast. 

\--

It was when she reached the sewer exit to the alley behind the bar that Mary was given pause. Beckett had made it clear that the Anarchs would have her head if they found out what she’d done - but he didn’t know them like she did. Surely they’d have some explanation for what happened - maybe Nines was trying to protect her from what lay within Grout’s mansion, maybe they knew…

But how many people had warned her? How many had advised against placing her trust in _anything_ , least of all the Anarchs?

Mary wrapped her hand around the rusting ladder rung, and dragged herself up and out of the sewer.

One way or another, she’d found out where her life was about to lead.

The street outside The Last Round was quiet, uneventful. For a fleeting moment she thought she’d arrived in time, and after one quick glance around to make sure no humans would see her she slipped in through the bar’s front door.

Something struck her from the front, and she found herself slammed face first into the bar counter, a grip like a vice on her neck pinning her down. Damsel’s voice roared in her ear.

“You’ve got some _real_ fucking nerve coming here, _rat._ ”

Mary’s vision swam, glass shards from where a bottle had been embedded into her cheek. “What the fuck -”

Damsel’s grip on her neck tightened, shoving her face further into the shards. “Don’t play dumb. I’d snap off those spikes on your shoulder and _decapitate_ you with them if I could.”

She’d come too late, that was fast becoming clear - but at least Damsel hadn’t yet tried to kill her. Beckett was wrong on that front, at least. “I can -”

“Explain? Oh, yes, please tell me all about what LaCroix told you to tell us. Remind me how good of an actress you are.” Damsel hissed.

 _Actress._ It made Mary’s legs go weak beneath her, body slumping. Damsel released her, and Mary slid to the floor, her back leaning up against the counter. She looked up at Damsel, startled to find that underneath the fury she’d begun to associate with the woman there was _pain_ in her eyes.

It mimicked Mary’s own.

“LaCroix didn’t tell me anything.” she murmured. “There was a fire at Grout’s, I needed blood. Passed out the second I…”

Damsel looked as if she was about to hit her, and Mary flinched. It was enough to halt her hand, though Damsel’s painted lips curled in disgust. Footsteps sounded from the back - Skelter had raced in from the alley outside and skidded to a stop at the sight of Mary on the floor. His expression mirrored Damsel’s.

“Didn’t think we’d catch a rat so soon.”

“What the fuck was Nines doing there?” Mary exclaimed, unable to handle the accusations any longer. “If you guys wanted to set me up you could just kill me-”

“ _Set you up?_ ” Damsel shouted, turning to flip a nearby table in her rage before rounding back on Mary. “You just stabbed us in the back, and you want to say _we set you up?_ ”

Skelter, however, narrowed his eyes - crouching down to Mary’s level. “Let’s hear your side of the story. Won’t say it’ll save your ass, but I’d like to know why. Trying to cover your back? LaCroix threaten you and you took the coward’s way out?”

“No.” Mary bit back, gaze darting between the two Anarchs. Their faces were worse than when she first met them - beneath their anger was betrayal, disappointment, and meeting their eyes felt like a knife in her chest. “He asked for the truth. I gave it to him. I saw Nines at Grout’s mansion, he told me to see what happened for myself. I… I got in, and Grout was dead, and then everything was on fire, and LaCroix just wanted to know what I saw - said if I didn’t say they’d all think I killed Grout, that -”

“Coward’s way out.” Skelter murmured.

“Nines was at Isaac’s tonight. I don’t know who the fuck you thought you saw, but it wasn’t him.” Damsel sneered.

“Someone’s playing a game with us.” Skelter mused, anger gone from his features and replaced by revulsion. “Don’t know if you’re an idiot or pretending to be one, cammy.” He stood - and forcefully grabbed Mary by the wrist, hauling her to her feet. He started to drag her to the bar’s back door, and Mary did not resist.

“You’re lucky Nines told us not to kill you.” Damsel said from somewhere behind her, following the two. “Even after you stabbed him in the back he didn’t want you hurt. You better hope he makes it out of this, rat.”

Skelter opened the back door, the surrounding area illuminated only by the red of the EXIT sign. “City’s gonna burn. Crawl back into the sewer if you know what’s good for you.”

Mary was thrown onto the gravel outside, gravel digging into her chest. She rolled onto her back, looking at Damsel and Skelter framed in the doorway glaring down at her.

“I’m sorry.” she said quietly. “I… I just wanted the pain to stop, I couldn’t think -”

“Yeah. You couldn’t.” Skelter answered cooly. Damsel spit on the ground. They both retreated back into the bar, the door slamming shut behind them.

_Climb back into the sewers._

The words rang in Mary’s head as she dragged herself to her feet. “I’m sorry.” she murmured again. She started picking the shards of glass out of her face, then gave up halfway through. What was the point? She’d always be hideous. The pain was a reminder of her mistake. Tears stung at her eyes, and she let them fall - the salt of them stinging where her cheeks had been cut open.

“Yeah, I bet you are.”

Mary jerked her head up to see Jack crawling through the bar’s upstairs window. He dropped down to the gravel in front of her and leaned against the back door, fishing a half-burned cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up.

“Didn’t think you cared enough to rip me a new one.”

“Calm down, Juliet. I don’t.” Jack smiled, smoke trailing out from between his teeth. “You remember that lesson I taught ya? You’re not really taking the whole ‘look out for yourself’ lesson to heart, here.”

“Look out for myself?” Mary stared at him incredulously. “Apart from you Nines was the only Kindred who gave half a shit, the only one who’s _cared_ \- and I signed his death sentence. I know what I saw, but what… what if I was wrong? I don’t even know if I can trust my own eyes anymore.”

“I’m a little more pragmatic than Nines, thanks.” Jack said, annoyed at being lumped into the same category. He flicked ash from the tip of his cigarette. Mary flinched to see it - felt her nerves spike at the sight of the glowing ember. “Softie or not, LaCroix’s going to have to try harder than a Blood Hunt to take Nines out. _I’ve_ heard of the kid, which should tell you something. Now for what you saw…” He took a drag of his cigarette. “I’m gonna toss an idea at you, kid. You ever consider that it could’ve been another nasty little gremlin you saw, pretending to be Nines?”

She hadn’t thought of it - hadn’t considered that the mask Gary had taught her could be someone else’s face. An ability her own clan knew, an ability _she’d_ used.

Suddenly it all made a sick kind of cosmic sense - her paranoia had grown the more she used it, Nines had been the one to tell her she didn’t need it. It’d been her downfall, his doom, and now Nines’ life was at risk, all from her own insecurity, her own distrust. Worse, she didn’t know where he was, had no way to apologize, to atone, to try and make up for her mistake. She hadn’t believed in him, she thought he was just the same as all the rest.

Yet he’d insisted no harm would come to her, despite the harm she’d inflicted upon him.

“Oh, god.” Mary groaned, the dread finally bubbling up out of her gut and into her throat. She bent over and vomited blood.

“Eugh.” Jack didn’t move from his spot, however, even as droplets of vitae splattered on his boots. “Look, kiddo - it’s not that bad. As far as fuckups go, could’ve gone a lot worse. Look on the bright side - Nines is safe and you’re back on LaCroix’s good side. That’ll make getting away from him a lot easier, unless…” Jack trailed off, bending over to get on eye level with her. “... the kids with anger issues scared you into thinking the Camarilla ain’t so bad.”

Mary spit, feeling a bit better - if a lot hungrier. “Fuck the Camarilla.” she muttered, straightening up.

“That’s my girl.” Jack grinned with approval, mirroring her. “That’s what matters. Sure you fucked up, but LaCroix’s a master manipulator. Keep doing what you’re doing and people will realize you got played like anyone. Actions speak louder than anything. For what it’s worth, I’ll tell Nines you lost your lunch about the whole thing if I see him.”

“Please don’t.” she squinted her eyes shut. “Just… just tell him I’m sorry. Shit, that’s not enough.” Mary wracked her mind for the right words, something she could tell Nines to convey the depth of her mistake. “Nothing’ll ever be enough. I fucked up.”

“Sure did.” Jack chirped. “I’ve done worse. It happens.”

It didn’t necessarily make her feel better, but she didn’t feel quite as alone. Mary doubted Jack ever cared about anyone the way she cared for Nines, his bearing was too flippant, too aloof - then a realization struck her. “You called me Juliet.”

Something glimmered behind Jack’s eyes, his grin spanning from ear to ear. He winked at her. “Better get going, kid. See if that primogen of yours has any answers. He owes you ‘em, if what I think happened happened.”

“Yeah.” she breathed, setting aside the implication of Jack’s words. Whatever he knew, he wasn’t going to tell her. She had a goal - something to do, some way to understand, a way to take action and do something with the self hatred that threatened to rip out of her skin.

Gary had told her to visit him, anyways. 

If he’d framed Nines, he’d regret his invitation.


End file.
